


Somewhere Only We Know (Five Times & Once)

by sashach



Series: Five Times & Once [4]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Bucky is a doctor, English translation, House M.D Crossover, M/M, So is Steve, Steve Rogers Has PTSD, Top Steve Rogers, and the boys love to do the do without lube
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-03
Updated: 2016-04-03
Packaged: 2018-05-30 23:39:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 23,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6446842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sashach/pseuds/sashach
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A medical AU in which five times Bucky and Steve were together and one time they weren't. House M.D. crossover.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Imbrian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imbrian/gifts).
  * A translation of [Some Where Only We Know (Five Times & Once)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2666453) by [Imbrian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imbrian/pseuds/Imbrian). 



> Shoutout to [Imbrian](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Imbrian/pseuds/Imbrian) for writing this series. Go give the original fic a kudo if you like the story.
> 
> [Echo](http://explodingcrenelation.tumblr.com) is THE editor one could ever ask for.

“Bucky!”

Of course he would run into Steve Rogers at a seminar.

They shouldn’t have crossed paths because they were in different departments, but he soon knew why. Steve was tagging along with some of his colleagues.

When Steve called out his name, his colleagues from PPTH turned their attention to Bucky. He'd heard all the rumors, gossip he already knew intimately. He chose to ignore it and nodded at Steve from afar; but he’d not seen Steve for such a long time that he’d forgotten Steve Rogers wasn’t the type to be dismissed by a mere nod.

“Long time no see.” Steve passed through the throng of people to come to him. The yearning in his eyes was unmistakable. Plain as daylight.

“You’re back.” The last time they'd seen each other was the morning when Steve left for his last tour. Steve had still had a few months to go before he was discharged from the military and he’d chosen to go back to Iraq again. They’d lost contact afterwards, probably because Bucky had decided to move his things out of their shared apartment and had then disappeared entirely. He didn’t know how Steve had dealt with the situation, but Bucky considered that a break up.

“I’ve always wanted to see you again,” Steve said softly. Bucky noticed the curious looks from Steve’s colleagues. One of them was in a wheelchair with a walking stick in his hands. Despite the distance, that same person wheeled himself over and parked next to them. The presumptuous conduct was an eye opener for Bucky; but Steve, on the other hand, looked resigned. “House, give us some privacy, will ya?”

“Absolutely! Just want to see what Steve-Mr.-Perfect-Rogers and this obscenely handsome, absolutely gay, Mr.-Don’t-Mess-With-Me, are talking about. You can ignore my existence. I’m fine with that.”

“You’re Gregory House.” How could Bucky miss the infamous, but highly skilled, doctor from PPTH and his hard to ignore personality. “It’s a pleasure.”

“Quit with the civilities, you—” House squinted suddenly. “Ho ho, Dr. James Barnes from Mount Sinai.” The gray-haired man glared at Steve. “Not only do you have a boyfriend, but he’s also a neurologist! That’s so cool!”

“I’m not his boyfriend,” Bucky tried to deny without emotion, but he couldn’t help but be annoyed with himself for not taking off his name tag to stuff into his pockets. He looked at Steve with chagrin, but that thought quickly dissipated. He had no idea how he should behave toward Steve. “In any case, Steve, it’s good to see you well and intact.”

With that, James walked past the doctors from PPTH in a brisk stride and left the conference hall before the next presentation began.

“The next presentation on the agenda is neurology. Rogers, doesn’t your friend want to stay for that?” A young brunette doctor waved to the agenda for the day, but House plucked the piece of paper from her hand.

“Steve doesn’t care.” House put the agenda back into Thirteen’s hand. “His boyfriend will be presenting in five minutes.” With enthusiastic expectations, he turned to Steve who was looking silently in the direction Bucky had gone. “Guess what, Rogers, Gates has accepted a management position at Chicago Hope. Cuddy would love to have a neurologist who’s good enough to take over for him.”

Steve frowned upon hearing that. “He’s doing well at Mount Sinai. He graduated from Mount Sinai. His whole life is at Mount Sinai. His parents probably have stock in Mount Sinai. I doubt he’ll leave.”

“Wow! How did you even manage to hook up with the only son of a rich Jewish man?” House asked with feigned surprise. “Wait. Considering your blond hair, blue eyes, great pecs, and the eight other attributes called your abs—”

“He’s not Jewish, and he's not the only son. He has a sister.” Steve took the agenda from his colleague. “But he is indeed an exceptional neurologist. He’s been concentrating his efforts in neurology ever since his hand injury prevented him from being a surgeon. We knew each other at med school.”

Thirteen was surprised. “But you went to med school at USU.”

“Yes, but he and his teacher visited USU to conduct a course in neurology. He was pursuing neurosurgery and he was funny and charismatic in class. The girls liked him a lot—”

“But he was taken with you,” House cut him off. “I don’t care. I just want another disabled colleague to fight for more disabled benefits from the hospital.”

Steve shot House a glance. “He hurt his hand because of me. If it weren’t for me, he would be working at the neurological center in Germany now. So that’s not funny, House, not funny at all.”

“The funny thing is, Rogers,” House might have been embarrassed by the fact that he’d stepped on the blond’s sore feet, but he was confident in his observations, “you say you’re the one who let him down; but from what I saw just now, he’s the one who ran away after seeing you, which means the two of you had a fling, and he thinks that he owes you. That gives you the bargaining chip to get him into PPTH.”

“Bucky won't come to be your duck.” Steve rejected the task. “It’s not like you lack doctors who are at your beck and call.”

“Still here, not dead,” Taub reminded Steve, a little displeased. “We’re not pushed around by House. We’re a team, okay?”

Foreman said impassively, “Steve and the OR staff are on a team, but I think we have neurologists who are good enough.”

House gave Foreman a glare and turned to continue to persuade his blond colleague. “I’m not looking for a neurologist for my diagnostic department. I’m looking for a qualified neurologist for the entire hospital. You people probably didn’t know or didn’t realize that the hospital actually needs a neurologist. Or else who’s going to handle multiple sclerosis, epilepsy, Alzheimer’s, and even insomnia?”

Steve Rogers assessed the man nonchalantly. 

“I’ll write the cover letter for him. Rogers, it sounds like you slept with him for more than ten years. You should be able to forge his signature?”

“House, you do know what you’ve just said is illegal?” Taub asked hurriedly. “If Mount Sinai knows that he’s looking for another job without notifying the management team, he could lose his job.”

“Which means he’ll hate Steve for the rest of his life.” Foreman shrugged. “But why should House care?”

“Or he might get back together with Rogers,” Thirteen retorted.

House looked at the brunette. “Right, that will officially increase the number of homosexual doctors to three.”

Steve replied coldly, “You seem to have forgotten to include yourself and Wilson.”

“My James,” House laughed. “You actually caught onto the topic and demonstrated your humorous side, Steve. Very interesting. But you still haven’t told me if you’re willing to do the thing.”

Steve shook his head. “I’m not doing anything that would cost him his job.”

House sighed with disappointment. He was about to say something when he noticed Steve was lost in his thoughts.

“House wants him to work in the hospital just to dig up more secrets about Steve,” Taub was siding with Rogers. “No need to satisfy House.”

“He already knew about Rogers’ greatest secret and told the entire world. What’s there to be afraid of?” Thirteen disagreed.

“House only deduced that Steve had an intimate male friend, and Steve didn’t deny that,” explained Foreman. “But now that the intimate friend is right here before him, House wants to know what Steve is hiding—”

“I don’t hide things,” Steve interrupted them unemotionally. His eyes were on James Barnes, who was now entering the theater-style conference hall from the first level entrance. “The reason why I don’t identify myself as homosexual is simple: I’ve never liked anyone besides Bucky. I can’t make any deliberate judgment nor do I need to. I didn’t talk about it in the past because I was in the military. I’ve no hidden secrets with regard to Bucky. He was hit by a rifle that went off accidentally during practice, and the nerves in his hand were injured because it was my suggestion that we walk by that area. He was transferred to the medical department and I took care of him because I felt responsible for what had happened and I fell in love with him. Not long after he was discharged from the hospital, he graduated and started working. A year later, I graduated from USU and began my service in the military. I was deployed to war zones several times, and on the eve before I was discharged, I accepted another deployment to Iraq. He was very depressed that day, and by the time I returned, he’d already moved out.”

“And you never went to Mount Sinai to look for him?” Thirteen asked with disbelief. “Even if he’d changed his cell phone, he didn’t change his job, did he?”

“He never told his colleagues about our relationship,” Steve continued without emotion. “My standpoint at that time was not to talk about it at work. Since he moved out, it also meant that he wanted to end our relationship. I can’t say I didn’t anticipate it before I left. He wanted me to work at Mount Sinai, but I chose the military instead.”

“But it’s not like it’s irredeemable?” Taub evaluated.

“Because your wife forgave you after you’d cheated on her, didn’t she?” chided House. “And therefore making a choice that’s entirely different from your original agreement is no big deal at all.”

“Who are you to judge anyone’s love life?” Foreman asked coldly.

“But he loves doing that,” concluded Thirteen. “So, that’s it?” _Watch the man you’ll never be able to forget flip through a few slides and then let him leave your life forever?_

Steve Rogers shot her a glance, and then turned his attention to the presenter on stage. Their eyes met accidentally, but Bucky’s eyes barely lingered on Steve.

Steve got up and left the conference hall.

House didn’t say another word. Calmly, he leaned his lower jaw against his crutch.

The seminar was the largest medical seminar in America, but it was limited to internal medicine.

Not a single surgical case was included in the agenda.

 

X

 

Steve’s favorite look of Bucky's had been when he was the assistant for Dr. Alexander Pierce during practical lessons: donned in a white robe, holding a scalpel. Pierce’s lectures may have been boring, but Bucky was always able to amuse the military students throughout the course. Yet when it came to demonstration, Bucky would wear an expression of concentration as he sliced open the cerebrum with precision to demonstrate the latest technique for nerve interception discovered by Pierce. During group practice, Bucky came over to their station and held Steve’s hand to demonstrate the accurate way to hold the scalpel.

“You’re the only junior here,” a surprised Bucky complimented him while taking his hand at the same time. “You must be exceptional.”

“You’re Professor Pierce’s assistant, you’re even more exceptional.” Steve only saw Bucky’s long, curling eyelashes. He wasn’t paying any attention to the scalpel in his hand.

“Just lucky.” Bucky curled his lips into a smile. He let go of Steve’s hand. “Well done, soldier.”

Steve smiled back nervously. When Bucky moved on to another table, Steve seemed to wake up from his reverie and stared at the apparatus on the table, trying to remember the surgical process from earlier. Of fucking course someone had witnessed how he was mesmerized by Bucky like a fool. And it was Natasha. She was now a resident surgeon at NYU Langone Medical Center.

She was also a common friend who was still in contact with Bucky.

Natasha owed him a favor. In a way.

When he broke up with Bucky, he’d gone back to Iraq to keep an eye on Natasha’s boyfriend.

But he’d never intended to collect on the debt. It had been his job anyway. It’s just that while he had the option to choose not to go back to the front line, he didn’t make the decision that was important to Bucky. He knew Bucky was ready. Ready to tell his parents about Steve because Bucky thought they would spend the rest of their lives together. After all, they had already spent seven years together while Steve was serving in the military. It didn’t make sense that, after all they’d been through, they would break up.

Which was probably why he was confident Bucky would still give him a chance and talk with him and he would still have the opportunity to make it up to Bucky.

He'd returned to an empty apartment. Not a single word was left for him.

“That you’re here to visit me because of a seminar nearby isn't very convincing.” Natasha was seeing him during the interval between two operations. “I still have another operation that’ll be observed by some students. Just straight up tell me what you want.”

“I want Bucky Barnes to come work for PPTH,” Steve admitted his motivations honestly.

“Barnes would probably donate his body to Mount Sinai for autopsy lessons after his death. You can forget about it.” Natasha was expressionless as she pushed past Steve’s shoulder to walk back to her office. Steve followed her. “Even if he wouldn't donate his body, what makes you think I could persuade someone who’s not working on my turf to go work in a hospital that’s not on my turf?”

“You’re also Pierce’s favorite.” Steve knew, of course, of Natasha’s capabilities. “I can take care of PPTH.”

“Explain ‘Pierce’s favorite.’ I might have some acquaintance with Fury and Fury has some acquaintance with Pierce, but that doesn’t make me a favorite.” Natasha frowned. “Steve, I’m worried enough for you that I’m might take you to CT to scan your brain.”

“Piece is partial towards you. He poached you, even Laufeyson knows—”

“Since when did you rely on that headhunting son of a bitch for information?”

“Tasha! I found a job that’s secure and safe and far away from the front line. I found an apartment that he likes, with trees and sunlight. All I need is for him to come back to me.” He looked at Natasha resolutely. “That’s all I’m asking.”

“And you never thought of going to Mount Sinai? You just want him to accommodate you.” Natasha glared at him.

“If Mount Sinai would have me, why wouldn’t I?” The first thing he wanted when he got back to the States was to work at Mount Sinai, but of course the initial position Bucky secured for him couldn’t be held through his fourth tour. He went on to apply at the ER department at Mount Sinai Doctors in Brooklyn Heights when they were short of manpower, but they told him tactfully that—although his resume was impressive and his background as a war surgeon was in demand—they just couldn’t take him.

“You should just tell him. He’ll be pissed if he knows you’re setting him up.” Natasha could imagine how much regard those people at Mount Sinai had for Steve Rogers. To them, medical science was the result of intricate calculations and repetitive experiments in the lab, not competitions with Death on the battlefield, trying to use a hemostat to clamp the aorta under the threatening sickle of the Grim Reaper.

“He doesn’t want to talk to me.” Steve had tried countless ways to ask Bucky out and failed. And even when they had been finally face to face today, Bucky still tried to avoid him. If he hadn't gotten the confirmation from Natasha that Bucky wasn't seeing anyone, he would have thought Bucky had started a new page in his life two years ago. “Mount Sinai is his comfort zone. I can’t see him if he’s working there.”

“You pull a man out of his comfort zone and call that love, you’re more screwed up than I thought, Captain Rogers.” Natasha opened the door to her office, picked up the phone on the desk with annoyance, and dialed a number. “This is Romanoff from NYU. Yes, I need to speak with Professor Pierce now. I understand he’s busy, but he asked for me for some—that’s right, I’m THAT Romanoff—”

When Alexander Pierce picked up the phone, Natasha motioned Steve to sit down. She switched the call to speaker for Steve to listen in. After a round of conversation, Natasha finally hung up the phone and wrote down an e-mail address on a post-it. She handed Steve the piece of paper.

“Pass the information about PPTH’s vacancy to Pierce’s secretary. He’ll make sure the recommendation letter and Bucky’s resume get to Lisa Cuddy through the appropriate channels. Success depends on if Cuddy is going to hire him.”

“Why would that help Bucky find a job?” Steve hadn't heard anything with regard to Bucky’s arrangements, only that PPTH needed a first rate neurologist and someone to give at least two lessons, with detailed case studies designated every week, to guide med students on their career paths. The entire conversation was basically revolving around that topic. Last of all, Pierce confirmed that Barnes’ resume and letter of recommendation would be ready right away.

“Because Barnes is looking for an administrative position.” Natasha threw him a glance. “You were busy house hunting. I forgot to tell you.”

Steve’s brows furrowed. “Why an administrative position out of the blue?”

“He wants to do research work in Germany.” Steve really could do with a CT scan, Natasha thought. “Have you forgotten? He wanted to go to Germany before you caused his injury. A neurology researcher in that same institution is retiring and told Pierce about it. Pierce has been looking out for research positions for Barnes ever since. PPTH—”

“So he’s going to Germany, and you didn’t think to tell me.” Steve heard the implication in her words.

“I did want to tell you, but I had to know the probability of him going before I let you know. If it was just talk, what would be the point of telling you?” Natasha glanced at her watch, then looked at Steve’s expression. “You’d be mad if I told you—”

“I’m willing to let him go if he wants to.” Steve lowered his eyes, and his head even lower. “I owed him that ten years ago.”

“Of course he wants to go, Rogers.” Natasha sighed. “He won’t be coming back once he’s gone. The benefits of a research job there are good, and German girls are blond and blue-eyed like you. Totally his type.”

Now she was making fun of him. Steve looked at her seriously. “I really want him to go.”

“All because of a rifle that blew up when you took him around the range to buy him dinner.”

“Because that’s what he wants.” If Bucky wanted to break up with him, he wouldn’t try to win him back. Steve had been waiting and waiting, waiting for a suitable person to appear in Bucky’s life, but Bucky hadn't let anyone in. Steve just wanted to know if that meant he could try to re-enter Bucky’s life.

He remembered the gun shot.

On that fateful day, Steve had finally found the courage to ask Bucky what time was he planning to leave the campus after school.

“I’m taking the train,” Bucky had replied with a smile after thinking for a second or two. “But I’ve not bought the ticket yet, so there’s no specific timing. Are you going back to New York this weekend?”

“I am, but the train takes four hours. It’s going to be boring without any company.” Steve turned to regard Bucky, who was smiling at him. After seeing each other over the course of a week during their class, Bucky remembered his name out of more than a hundred students. Surely it wasn’t too abrupt to ask him out for dinner, or to accompany him on the trip back to New York?

But Bucky had always been more courageous than he was. “Are you leaving tomorrow? I can go back with you tomorrow.”

Steve’s brain was in a knot. He didn’t know what to say because that was supposed to be his line.

“Am I not good enough company?” Bucky threw him another question promptly.

“Of course you are! You know what?” Seeing Bucky’s teasing smirk, Steve curled his lips. “I want to buy you dinner, too.”

Then he suggested they could make a detour around the firing range by the path next to it. It was a tree-lined path, a comfortable walk in the evening breeze.

And then someone’s rifle exploded.

The student holding the rifle was badly injured. Massive blood loss in the thoracic cavity and facial burns. But Steve only saw Bucky Barnes holding his arm, curling into a ball on the ground with pain, blood gushing out from the knuckles of his left palm, which was holding on to his right arm.

 

X

 

Bucky was later taken to the hospital by the paramedics. It was probably luck that, out of the entire USU, only the two of them were affected by the explosion. Bucky had applied pressure to the aorta that had been penetrated, while Steve tied his belt tightly around Bucky’s upper arm to staunch the bleeding. They managed to prevent excessive blood loss on the way to the hospital. Bucky was even conscious enough to tell the paramedics his medical history. He’d been very healthy growing up, no surgery records, no drug allergies.

Steve was standing by the door when Bucky was pushed into the OR on a gurney.

Four hours later, when Bucky was pushed out of the operation, his parents were already there. While Steve had been waiting outside the OR the entire time, he knew he was in no position to be near the gurney. He could only watch from afar. He was still wearing the blood stained civvies from that morning and he had answered questions about how Bucky was caught in the explosion. He was informed that he was less than eight inches away from another piece of debris, but he felt no joy in that. His only concern was Bucky’s wounded right hand.

The next day after the operation, Steve stood outside Bucky’s room early in the morning. He’d been waiting for the right moment to go in and see him. Coincidentally, he witnessed Bucky’s parents being asked to go home by their son. Bucky wanted them to stop worrying and asked them not to tell his sister the details.

Steve was worried. He managed to find the surgeon who had operated on Bucky to ask for the results. The surgeon was in a tight spot, but he knew Steve had been with Bucky when the accident happened. It was normal to want to know how the operation went. So he summarized it simply for Steve. The nerve conduction of the right hand was permanently damaged. Bucky would never be able to manipulate the last three fingers of his right hand, let alone hold a scalpel.

Most people would probably be too guilty to say anything to Bucky, but Steve knew that, even though taking responsibility was tough, running away would never solve his problems. If Bucky wanted to hate him, he could handle it.

Who hadn’t been hated at some point during their lives?

That afternoon when Steve walked into the room, Bucky was deep in sleep.

The nurse told him Bucky might sleep for a while and asked him to come back later, but Steve wanted to stay there with him.

Steve was always chided for impromptu speeches about justice and principles off the top of his head, but he couldn’t think of the first sentence to say to Bucky. “I’m sorry” was entirely useless. Who did he think he was trying to console anyway? But if he didn’t say it, Steve felt he had no reason to wait in the ward at all.

He buried his face in his hands in desperation. Nothing right came to mind.

But Bucky was always braver than him. “…Second Lieutenant Rogers, an active serviceman would be court-martialed if found crying.”

Steve lifted his head and looked at Bucky, who was lying on his bed with a wry smile. “Barnes…”

“Call me Bucky.” Bucky moved his left hand and tapped on Steve’s knee near the edge of the bed. “My parents wanted me to go back to New York for recovery, but I think that’s all quite trivial now. The operation’s over. I don’t want to travel long distance the next two days. I just need to know if the nurses taking care of post-op patients are also guys?”

Steve looked at Bucky with puzzlement when he heard the question. The brunet curled his lips and gave him a warm smile.

“I don’t blame you, Second Lieutenant Rogers. It was an accident. Don’t give me that end-of-the world look,” Bucky said softly. “I’m a future doctor, just not holding the scalpel. It’s not the end of the world.”

Steve took a few deep breaths before looking at the smiling man lying on the bed. He managed to speak after a couple of moments. “There still aren’t many girls in med school, the nurses are… mostly guys.”

“Oh, okay.” Bucky grinned with satisfaction. “Well, then, please tell your classmates to be gentle with me, Second Lieutenant Rogers.”

“Call me Steve.”

He didn’t want Bucky to remind him of his status as a soldier. He would recall how, as a soldier who protected his country, he’d failed to grab the man next to him and find cover when the explosion happened. He’d let an innocent civilian pay the price for his mistake. He wasn’t qualified to be a soldier.

“Stevie. Wow, that’s really adorable.”

“It’s Steve. Just Steve.” He corrected the man. But he realized it was absolutely unimportant and his face turned dark again.

“You could look more serious, Steve. Have you forgotten who’s the one who paid the price?” Bucky’s smile faded. “I know what happened. I don’t blame you, but I also don’t need you to keep reminding me of the fact that I’ll be disabled for the rest of my life.”

“I’m not—” … _trying to remind you._

“Good. Don’t.” Bucky said gently. “Because I’m learning to accept the fact. So should you.”

And so Steve learned to accept the truth by practicing what Bucky preached. He went to the ward everyday. For an entire week, he was with Bucky and took over the duty of taking care of the brunet.

When it was time to change the wound dressing, Bucky would always try to disturb him by using his intact left hand to pull out the head of the bandage while Steve was starting to roll the bandage. Steve found out woefully that Bucky was training himself to write with his left hand. Although he always waited until Steve wasn't around to take out his pen and paper to practice, Steve still saw it.

On the second day after he found out about it, Steve went to borrow equipment from the army to assist Bucky in his training. There were injured or disabled soldiers in the military, and it was actually good luck he was still be able to train the other hand to learn to write and adapt to life. The equipment would help facilitate his left hand to get used to holding a pen, and Bucky seemed to get the knack of it pretty quick. Steve still had hope for Bucky’s right arm. He asked the doctor from the rehabilitation department if Bucky had any chance of using his left hand to hold the scalpel. The answer wasn't hopeful. It was already tough for his left hand to perform as well as his right hand, said the doctor. Moreover, everything in the OR was executed from a right handed point of view. Most left handed surgeons operated with their right hand so they wouldn't seem out of tune in the OR.

“You care a lot about him. Did you know each other before?”

“No,” Steve replied honestly. Judging from the surprised look on the doctor, he wasn’t expecting that answer.

“Seeing how the two of you communicate, I thought you’d known each other your whole life.”

Steve had thought so, too. At first, he only thought Bucky was so handsome that it was mesmerizing to watch him. As time went by, he felt like maybe the two of them could just sit on a bed and talk and talk till the end of the world. The military had covered all of Bucky’s medical expenses, but the fact was he could go back to New York and pick other, more prestigious hospitals for rehabilitation. Not that Bucky needed to have his medical expenses covered, but he could do that. Yet Bucky chose to stay in Maryland because “I don’t want my injury to deteriorate.”

Bucky should have been interning at the hospital. It would have decided if he could graduate with honors. But Bucky had been putting emphasis on integrated surgery, and it was inevitable he would have to change his department. The school understood the accident was unavoidable and was willing to wait for his return the next spring to finish the course. The job that was waiting for him would still be available.

Every time he watched Bucky playing with children from military families, Steve thought Bucky would be a perfect pediatrician. He was gentle when he spoke, immensely patient, and his heart was as vast as the ocean—

Additional compliments were silenced when Bucky covered Steve’s mouth with his hand. “I’m grossed out, Rogers.”

Steve knew Bucky would feel it. Under the cover of Bucky’s hand, he kissed his palm lightly.

Bucky took back his hand in a flash. He lowered his head as if nothing had happened and played with the grapes on his plate, using the only two mobile fingers of his right hand to hold the fork.

The prior weekend, Steve had accompanied Bucky to attend a symposium by an M.D. from Georgetown University. The speaker was selected to attend a presentation in Germany together with other American scholars. The symposium was held to share and discuss the groundwork of her team and their other research.

It was a completely professional trip. That was what Steve had thought when he left for the event with Bucky. It was never a bad thing to learn something new over the weekend.

And then Bucky took him to stay at an opulent hotel.

Bucky had only asked Steve if he wanted to attend a symposium with him that weekend. He hadn't revealed any more details. Steve saw Bucky talking over the phone a few times when the brunet was waiting to have lunch with him. On one or two occasions during tea break Bucky asked the nurse at the nurse's station to Google some hotel information for him. Bucky said the expenses for the symposium would be paid for by his school—and Steve had heard Mount Sinai was THE med school for rich kids—but to spend such a huge sum of money was astonishing to him.

Even more astonishing was the king sized bed.

_One_ king sized bed.

“What if I rolled over on your hand?” Steve insisted they should ask the hotel for two single beds.

“You can sleep there.” Bucky tilted his chin to indicate the one-seated couch.

Steve regarded the couch. It looked comfortable enough to sleep in. Satisfied, he shrugged his shoulders. “Looks good to me.”

Just when Steve had put down his backpack next to the couch, Bucky used his good hand and suddenly yanked one of Steve’s shoulders and pushed him onto the bed.

“Tell me one more time you’re going to sleep somewhere else and I’ll hit you like a sandbag.” Bucky sat on his lap, angry and wistful. “But you’re a soldier… I wanted to kiss you so badly at USU and the hospital in front of everyone.”

Steve wasn't a fool. He’d known Bucky liked him. Probably a little before his injury. After the injury, though, he thought Bucky would hate him. Steve couldn’t convince himself it was entirely an accident. He felt that choosing the pathway closest to the shooting range was his own lack of foresight. It would only be reasonable if Bucky had hated him.

“A grown man like you, helping another man massage his fingers, could you be more embarrassing, Rogers?”

When Bucky had been learning rehabilitation exercises for his fingers from the rehab therapist, Steve had actually taken a day off to learn it with him. What Steve had in mind was: if he learned the routine, he could keep an eye on Bucky when he was doing the exercises. If Bucky made a mistake, he could help him. It was way better than sitting in the therapy room and waiting for the therapist.

After learning the routine that day, he started to help Bucky with his massage right in front of the therapist.

“I didn’t hear you complain about it the other day.” Steve hadn’t felt embarrassed, and he didn’t think Bucky should have been embarrassed either. Well, assuming that looking away, supporting his chin with his hand, and not talking was a sign of embarrassment. “You could have told me if you didn’t like it.”

“I liked it, damn it! I like you, Rogers.” Bucky leaned over and cupped Steve’s face with his hands and kissed him deeply. “I like everything you do. I was embarrassed and I was afraid that you’d be labeled gay. That’s why I didn’t dare to overstep the line with you and I didn’t dare to ask you what you think because there’re ears everywhere. My whole body was trembling when you held my fingers. Couldn't you feel it?”

“I thought you were ticklish.” The movements involved bending the last three fingers repeatedly and kneading the palm.

Bucky sighed. He removed himself from Steve’s lap and lay down next to his right arm.

“Careful.” Worried that Bucky would hurt himself, Steve extended his arm and motioned Bucky to pillow himself on it to avoid bumping his injured hand.

Bucky glared at him and sat up from the bed without warning. “I’m going to the symposium.”

Steve liked the closeness between them. A sudden sense of reluctance surged within him at the thought of Bucky leaving. So he pulled Bucky’s good hand, gentle enough to let Bucky know that he didn’t want him to leave.

Bucky lowered his gaze to look at the blond who was lying in bed staring back at him. Another wistful sigh.

Next Bucky began to unbutton his shirt and Steve sat up straight and moved to the edge of the bed.

Bucky smelled of grass when he took off his shirt. Steve had had some training to complete before they left for the symposium that morning and Bucky had waited for him on the campus, lying on the lawn under the tree shade, reading a book. The books that Bucky read were complex. He didn’t require medical care now, but on the grounds that he still needed rehabilitation, he had moved into one of the dormitories provided for faculty staff instead of those inhabited by the likes of Steve. The blond would sometimes visit Bucky in his dorm and rifle through the thick books on the shelf.

He had thought they were medical books, but they turned out to be books on philosophy.

Bucky could easily charm everyone around him with his wit and humor; but when he was alone, he could spend an entire day with a book and not talk to anyone. Steve seldom got to see the serious side of Bucky, but he found the brunet attractive when he furrowed his brows, deep in thought, especially when he pouted his lips unconsciously.

Of course Steve wanted to kiss Bucky. He had daydreamed about kissing him at Grand Central, on the platform where Bucky would see him off to Maryland.

Steve leaned in, put his hands on Bucky’s thighs to pull him into his chest, and then kissed him deeply.

Bucky was injured and Steve didn't want to crush him under his weight. Yes, he was conscientious about stuff like that because who in the world wouldn’t have consideration for someone they liked? Bucky was handsome from every angle. His silky soft hair was always nicely combed. He only had three or four shirts to change into during his rehabilitation in Maryland and sometimes he would steal Steve’s clothes from his closet. Every time Steve saw him wearing his clothes he had to pinch himself hard on his thigh to maintain his sanity. Bucky also had a pair of beautiful eyes. Steve had seen Bucky's mother several times and he concluded that Bucky resembled her.

“Most children look like their mothers,” was Bucky’s answer when asked about it. “Maternal genetic material decides most of our genes. You’ve studied genetics.”

Of course Steve knew what the textbooks said as he recalled his mother’s visage. He had inherited his looks from her.

“What about you? Do you look like your mother or your father?” Bucky had disrupted Steve as he was changing his bandage when the topic was brought up. The latter had to hold his hand under his elbow and start bandaging all over again.

Eventually, under Bucky's inquiring eyes, Steve replied slowly, “My dad died when I was really young. My mom died when I graduated from high school. That’s why I joined the military.”

He'd wanted to go to med school, but money was a problem. Luckily he was already eighteen years old and he could enlist in the army. After joining, he received war zone medical training and tried his best to perform well. Later, under the recommendation of his CO, he found himself preparing for his med school entrance examination. If his scores were eligible for USU, he would be enrolled.

Upon hearing that Steve had no family, Bucky stopped struggling to pull his hand out of the blond’s elbow and leaned forward to give him a heartfelt hug. “I’m sorry, Steve. I’m really sorry.”

Steve should have been the one to feel sorry. Bucky was trying to convey his condolences, but all he wanted was his warmth.

Just like that warmth he was feeling now.

He kissed Bucky’s neck and heard his trembling breath. He liked the sound of it. He lifted his head to kiss Bucky’s Adam’s apple, and Steve took Bucky’s right hand and circled it around his neck. He asked Bucky to hold his shoulder by putting his left arm under Steve’s arm. Steve figured that when lust and passion took over, this position would most likely keep Bucky unharmed.

Lube was easily available in the hospital. Steve had taken a couple of packets when they were operating the proctoscope. His classmates were joking about all the possible uses for lube and, even though Steve was smiling and listening, he was also taking their notes to heart.

Steve had studied gynecology and knew all about vaginal secretions, but men weren't born with glands that provided natural lubrication. When he first began to masturbate while thinking about Bucky, he'd been considering the issue. It was practical to have lube beforehand; but, in his imagination, it would have all happened when Bucky was well and healthy. He knew Bucky would never be fully cured, and basic recovery wouldn’t happen for quite some time.

At the moment the second stage of rehabilitation was only starting, way too early in Steve’s estimation for Bucky's recovery.

But Bucky wanted this, and Steve definitely wanted it, too.

Beads of perspiration rolled down Bucky’s spine, disappearing between Steve’s finger and Bucky’s rim. Steve had just added another finger. Medical lube didn’t dry easily, but he didn’t want to hurt Bucky in the process of preparing him, so Steve continued to squeeze more lube at his entrance, spreading it with care. He asked softly in Bucky’s ear to make sure he was prepared for “foreign object penetration” and Bucky hissed angrily, “You think you’re doing a rectal examination?”

“We get to ‘examine’ that part later, or else it’ll be uncomfortable.”

He pushed his fingers further in. Finding the prostrate gland could be a challenge. Once found, there was no hiding the result it had on certain parts of the anatomy. It was impossible to hide the truth. Moreover, the two of them were med school students. How could they not find that little bundle of nerves? Bucky knew very well the advantages in store for him; but while he would feel satisfied and comfortable, he was also apprehensive Steve would find him unattractive when Bucky finally succumbed to pleasure. Everyone wanted to be perfect in front of their partner. No exception.

Bucky was afraid of losing control. His life had been barreling out of control with unprecedented speed ever since his hand had been injured. Everything he’d planned for his life was thrown into confusion, the progress of his future had come to a standstill at the other side of the firing range. He should have been anxious. The research center in Germany wanted him to reconsider his decision to do research work at the surgical department when they learned about the injury to the nerves in his hand. They didn’t reject him outright, but it was obvious they were telling him he couldn’t handle the job. Pierce had explicitly suggested he transfer to the medical department instead. The most intricate hand movement required by a medical doctor was reading X-rays and writing. One could still do the job even with an entire hand blown off.

Everyone told Bucky to give up on the surgical department; but he had always wanted to be a neurosurgeon. The human brain was so much more mysterious than the universe. If he couldn’t be an astronaut, he wanted to at least be able to explore the human brain firsthand, instead of staring at it through an apparatus. The moment the explosion happened, he'd checked to make sure his muscles hadn’t been damaged. When he couldn’t move his fingers, he knew already that he’d injured the nerve conductors, and it could be permanent or temporary.

When the results came back permanent, he felt the floor gave way and he was falling, falling.

Until he saw Steve Rogers, who was more heartbroken than he was. When his parents said the companion who had been with him at the time of the accident was still waiting outside his ward, Bucky wanted them to tell Steve to go home and get some rest. At the same time, he blamed Steve. If they hadn't gone for dinner, or if they’d taken another route, he wouldn’t be where he was now. And so Bucky didn’t say another word to his parents and tried to go back to sleep. But he tossed and turned and sleep didn’t come. Like Jack’s magic bean, a thought had grown and dominated all his thoughts. Bucky realized the seed of that thought should never have been planted in the first place. Once it grew, everything would have been so much easier: he could hold other people accountable for the accident, but he would still be disabled, he still wouldn’t be able to be a surgeon.

So why should he incriminate Steve Rogers?

The next day, when he saw the man sitting by his bedside, Bucky suddenly realized he could forgive him. Not because of that great physique under a tight t-shirt, not because of that obscenely handsome face, but because the man—who was in his formal military uniform—was sitting next to Bucky with his back straight, looking as if he was ready to go to war and not return. He was caught up in enormous torment. Just like Bucky.

Bucky could forgive him.

But that didn’t mean he had to make it easy on him. Seeing how happily Steve had taken up the responsibility of taking care of him, Bucky had also decided the man would be at his beck and call. Bucky was respectful to his therapist, polite with his attending physician, but when Steve put on his doctor’s facade, Bucky simply refused to cooperate with him. He would mess around when Steve was changing his bandage, scream in pain when Steve was disinfecting his wound. He took great pleasure in seeing Steve in a flurry of confusion, grinned with glee when Steve looked powerless due to his mischief.

Once, Bucky got careless and made fun of Steve in front of his parents.

“You stopped making fun of people after you turned ten, Jimmy.”

In the face of his mother’s questioning, Bucky only smiled.

One evening, Bucky dreamt he was laying face down on his bed, moaning. Someone was laying beneath him and caressing him. It was Steve and they kissed at the end.

He’d had to change his pants when he woke up. It was then he started to wonder if there was something else behind Steve’s compassion towards him. Something more than guilt.

Now he was convinced of that desire.

Steve removed his fingers and held his cock for Bucky to slide down on slowly. Straddling Steve made Bucky blush, but the blond's aroused expression satisfied him, and Bucky guessed his own expression probably wasn't much different.

Throughout the entire process, Bucky obediently kept his right hand away from where he and Steve were joined, while his other hand left angry marks on Steve’s back as the blond thrust into him. Med school students generally kept their nails short for the sake of good grooming and Bucky could feel himself grasping so hard that Steve’s back must have been bruised.

Just like Steve felt the cheeks of Bucky’s ass had to be bruised, too.

Having established the location of Bucky’s prostate with probing fingers earlier on, Steve could stimulate his sweet spot effortlessly after a slight adjustment in position; but Bucky seemed to disapprove. “Can’t you just… help me after with your hands?” Surely no man would like to come just from being fucked.

“I want to make sure you feel good. A man ejaculates when he feels good. It’s just a matter of course.”

Steve was serious when he said that. Frank and unabashed. Bucky was breathless, he struggled to look at Steve through his hooded eyes and saw warmth and sunshine and he couldn’t help but lean forward to kiss Steve.

After several more forceful thrusts, Steve took out his cock and spilled between their stomachs. He then pushed his fingers into Bucky’s blissfully wracked body and massaged his prostrate at leisure, allowing the brunet to languish in the sensation. As the dazed tingle spread throughout his body, Bucky wondered, _If same-sex copulation doesn’t fulfill the purpose of procreation, why does stimulating the prostrate from behind proffer such a forceful orgasm?_

And he came under the clever ministrations of Steve’s fingers. 

The blond laid him down on the bed and he felt himself come alive again when his sweetly sore tailbone touched the soft bedding.

Steve kissed him. Kissed every part of his body as if he was a god, or an exquisite piece of art.

Bucky lay in bed submissively, and his eyes met Steve’s gentle gaze. He remembered one afternoon, after Steve’s training, the blond had laid down next to him under a tree and gave him the same kind of look while they were talking.

Bucky wasn’t sure where his life would take him next. Everything had come to a standstill.

If Steve Rogers would stay with him, perhaps he could accept everything more easily.

After that weekend, the feeling of being stuck had somewhat abated. Bucky returned to New York to complete his degree and graduated magna cum laude. But there was gossip saying he'd gotten the honor because Pierce was guilt-ridden and had made the recommendation. Bucky wanted to ignore the rumors, but it wasn’t easy especially since Steve wasn't with him in New York. Sometimes he would stare out the window and gaze at Central Park, his ears ringing with all the criticism saying how unworthy he was of the honor.

Bucky could only work extra hard. In his first year as a doctor, he and Steve were in separate cities and could only see each other on the weekends. Bucky was reluctant to let Steve spend too much time traveling during his already limited free time. Even though some people were unhappy with him for spending too much time at other research centers instead of concentrating on his patients, Bucky was always eager to make requests to go south whenever there was a symposium in Washington or Baltimore.

Then he would be able see Steve after school.

He remembered how they had started living together. Bucky had always told himself to be patient because Steve was a soldier. America was always fighting in a war and Steve would eventually have to go to the battlefield. Of course the blond could choose to be a researcher and never have to step into a war, but Steve had a gift for performing operations. His hands didn’t tremble when cutting open a human body, and he was bold but cautious and would be able to execute a perfect operation even in a war zone. In comparison to holding a rifle to fight the enemy, Steve’s hands were more suited to suture the wounds of a soldier.

Bucky knew that, rather than sitting in a lab to learn about anthrax, Steve could do so much more on the battlefield.

On the day of Steve’s graduation, knowing that Steve didn’t have any family with him, Bucky attended the ceremony, even though he knew people would more or less talk.

It was also at the ceremony he found out Steve had some really good friends. Natasha, an excellent surgeon, was one of them. She and Bucky soon became friends.

“Steve wanted us to come to his commencement ceremony, and we were like, ‘Dude, that’s such a girlish thing! It’s too girlish even for Steve Rogers!’ I wanted to say no, but Natasha said we had nothing better to do so why not?” Natasha’s boyfriend explained with a grin. “Natasha’s always right.”

When Steve knew Bucky was coming to his commencement ceremony, he had, with enthusiastic fervor, invited all of his friends to come.

He'd told Natasha about him and Bucky, and he wanted to have more friends around so no one would notice Bucky’s special significance to him. There was no better place to hide a tree than in a forest.

After the ceremony, Bucky heard the others asking Steve where he would like to be stationed, and Steve said it would be at the discretion of his CO. All the mental preparation Bucky had done was torn to shreds.

He didn’t want to be unreasonable. Bucky thought maybe it would be easier for both of them if he had been; but Steve had chosen the military before he’d chosen to be with Bucky. Steve had nothing before he met Bucky and Steve had found a family, and friends who were as close as family, in the academy. Why should Steve change for Bucky, someone who had entered his life so much later?

Moreover, Steve wasn’t the kind of person Bucky could change. Steve always did what he wanted to do.

On the evening of Bucky’s birthday in early spring, Steve had borrowed a motorcycle and rode all the way from Maryland to New York. There was snow, even ice in some places, and Bucky had tried to discourage Steve from coming; but the blond still managed to get to the hospital that evening. They had a little celebration at a restaurant nearby before Steve drove back to Maryland.

Bucky couldn’t argue against Steve, which was why he wouldn’t persuade Steve to do research work.

But he could convince himself. _If you want this man, you have to get him yourself._

“Steve, let’s live together.”

He didn’t want to learn to endure the separation anymore. If Steve had to travel between the battlefield and the States all the time, Bucky could learn to accept the fact; but when Steve was back in the country, every moment had to be spent with him. There would be no distance between them, not even a tiny crevice.

Bucky was always braver than Steve was. Steve couldn’t help but think that when the brunet suggested they live together.

Bucky was the one who decided the course of their relationship, and Steve respected that when Bucky decided to end it.

Except now Steve had made up his mind to get Bucky back.

During his off days from PPTH, Steve spent his time painting the walls of his new apartment. Off white walls, wooden furniture. The trees on the pavement should be at least three stories high, there should be at least two windows facing sunlight, the diameter of the fireplace should be wide enough, there should be wooden shelving in the living room, and a big carpet that was machine washable.

Steve remembered every single detail of the time he made love to Bucky on the carpet in the apartment they’d lived in together.

Bucky’s hair had been longer at that time. It didn’t match his personality, but he would sometimes tie it back into a little ponytail. Steve later learned that Bucky had been assigned by the executives of the hospital to take over some neurology research Pierce was too busy to work on. Since he didn’t have to deal with patients from the Upper East Side, Bucky didn’t think it was necessary to keep up an immaculate and respectable appearance. Steve liked his long hair, especially the feeling of running his hands through it.

He loved Bucky. Only this time he couldn’t respect his decision to go to Germany and sit by and watch.

 

X

 

Bucky couldn’t sleep when Steve went for his first tour in Iraq.

He still couldn’t sleep when Steve came back because sudden noises on the street, or the echo of a tin can dropped by a neighbor on the staircase, would send Steve into a panic. On his first R&R back in New York, Steve tossed and turned on the bed they shared and he couldn’t sleep.

“Bucky, I feel like I’m lying on a marshmallow.”

So Bucky put their pillows on the floor and lay down with Steve. He held Steve close, so that Steve’s head was tucked in the crook of his neck to feel his pulse and breath. That way Steve didn’t have to wake up every three hours to make sure he was alive.

The first tour was agonizing, unbearable. Bucky wanted to tell Steve to get himself discharged from the army more than once, but the thought never occurred to Steve.

“I had to amputate a man’s leg on the battlefield. We didn’t have an amputation saw. You can’t imagine the kind of equipment we used.”

When Steve woke up in the middle of the night, burying his head in his knees, Bucky could only rub circles on his back.

On Steve’s second tour back, they were stopped by a soldier on one of their dates. The man had met Steve on his first tour to Iraq and he thanked Steve for saving his life.

Steve was different from that day onward. Bucky remembered clearly. It was another one of Steve’s R&R leaves back in New York. Steve came to pick Bucky up after his shift at the hospital. They rode to Brooklyn on Steve’s motorcycle to get pizza for supper. Steve had told him it was the best pizza in the world. They were sitting together when a man without his left leg came up to Steve. Steve recognized the man immediately and stood up to give him a hug.

“Your friend saved my life. He’s my hero,” the man had told Bucky and Bucky smiled.

_He’s my boyfriend._ But Bucky could only tell himself that in his mind. Then he shook hands with the man.

“I’m not that great,” Steve rejected the title somberly. “You sacrificed for your country. You’re the hero.”

Bucky thought silently to himself, should anyone ask him who his hero was, it would probably be the pilot of the military transport aircraft that brought Steve home unharmed, or the captain of the train Steve had boarded at the base, and the cabbie who drove Steve back to their apartment from Grand Central.

And of course all the soldiers who had covered Steve on the battlefield. They were all Bucky’s heroes. In America, the poorest children enlisted themselves, some for scholarships, some for bread and butter. Just like Steve.

After his third tour, Steve had gotten used to the war zone. He became very quiet when he got back, but he was also unusually attached to Bucky. The first night was especially horrifying. They were to meet at the street corner next to the hospital. And just like the last two times, Steve had flown from Iraq back to base then to New York, and by the time they finally met, it was already midnight.

Steve hadn’t changed into his civvies this time. Bucky noticed, when they stood very close, he could see some sand in the hair on Steve’s temples under the pale light; but Steve only looked at him passionately, as if Bucky was the distant light, and Steve was the moth that couldn’t stop itself from flying to the fire. Steve kissed him deeply. He was still in his military jacket, still wearing his military boots, he even had his army green t-shirt underneath his uniform.

“You have no idea how much I missed you,” Steve murmured between kisses. “Your warmth, your smell…”

Bucky didn’t know how he smelled. But he never wore cologne when he had outpatient work, and he’d just left the hospital. He thought logically he should smell like antiseptic. He'd showered before leaving the hospital, but his nose still smelled the disinfectant. He couldn’t imagine what exactly he smelled like in Steve’s mind.

“Your abdominal injury, how is it?” Bucky put his hand inside Steve’s jacket. “My heart almost stopped.”

Upon arriving at the front line on his third tour, Steve and his team were involved in an exchange of fire between the rebel forces and the Iraqi troops when they were in Baghdad. Three bullets went through the side of his abdomen. Although no organs were injured, he had to spend two months in bed behind the defense line. Bucky had wanted to fly to Syria or Iran then proceed to Baghdad, but Natasha managed to dissuade him from doing so. Steve wasn’t in immediate danger, and it was unnecessary to risk outing Steve just to take care of him.

Bucky wan’t even qualified to volunteer to be a military surgeon because of his hand injury.

“It’s all good. Would you like to examine me yourself, Doctor Barnes?” Steve curled his lips. He patted the seat behind him. “Come on, I’ll take you home so you can do a thorough examination.”

In general, Bucky disliked any word regarding examination. Especially when it came out of Steve’s mouth.

For a long time after that, he would blush every time the nurse asked him what examination was required for the patient.

When Bucky climbed up the motorcycle and hugged Steve, he couldn’t resist asking, “Captain Rogers, did you examine other people that way at the base?”

Steve glanced at him in the rearview mirror. “Guess what? I really—” Then he turned around and shut the face shield of Bucky’s helmet with a snap. “How is that possible, Bucky? I only like you, now and forever. There’s only you. Where were you before I met you? You let me wait for twenty-four years.”

“I’ve waited for you for six years, Steve, while you went on tours. I think we’re even,” replied Bucky as the wind roared by. “Thank goodness this is your last one.”

Steve didn’t reply back and Bucky didn’t think there was anything wrong. Later, when he thought back to that moment, the fact that Steve didn’t answer his question had been odd. Why didn’t Bucky press him further? Was it because he was too scared to learn anything about Steve on the battlefield? Because every time he thought about it Bucky would shake uncontrollably?

Bucky couldn’t open the door when they got home. He had to dodge Steve’s rain of kisses in order to see the door knob. Steve was happy, which was actually odd because Steve was usually tired and he usually wanted them to quickly shower and rest, enveloped in each other’s arms. But Bucky didn’t notice. After all, he'd been on duty the entire day. It was normal that his attention was fading.

Bucky had to push Steve aside. He said unhappily, “Sometimes I think you like getting punched.”

“Yeah?” Steve encircled him from behind and whispered into his neck, “Who was the one that got a spanking in bed last time?”

Bucky threw a punch into the air behind him to make Steve go away. “You can walk two blocks and crash with Clint and Natasha.”

Steve watched Bucky as he finally opened the door and entered the apartment. Just then the little girl from upstairs looked down at them from the stairwell. Steve met her eyes. He waved at her and gestured for her to go back inside her apartment.

It was just few moments' delay, but Steve only managed to catch a glimpse of Bucky walking into the bathroom. Steve went back to the door and latched the lock, checked that all the windows in the apartment were shut, then reset the alarm. They weren’t living in Manhattan, although they were only a bridge away and their neighborhood was relatively safe, but Steve wanted to make sure Bucky was protected since he spent most of his time away from home. But Steve had seen Bucky fencing and if Bucky hadn’t thought hanging a rapier over the fireplace was a silly idea, he was sure Bucky would be able to kill a burglar with a sword. But Bucky had said no, he had a gun.

Bucky had a gun. Steve opened the drawer of the dresser in the bedroom and found the gun where it had always been.

Steve couldn’t say if he should be comforted or worried. He closed the drawer slowly.

Once, under Steve’s request, Bucky went to a shooting range with him. The range was owned by a couple of discharged officers. Bucky had just registered for firearm purchase and Steve wanted to teach him how to use the weapon. He didn’t know the brunet was a sharpshooter until they got to the range.

Bucky could shoot with both hands. Too bad he couldn’t operate with both hands.

Bucky replied casually, “How could the hands that shoot be the same hands that save lives?”

“Of course they can. If you shoot to save lives.”

Steve kissed his temple. Bucky stared at him for a lingering moment before returning the kiss unhurriedly.

“You always know what to say.”

After inspecting the gun, Steve went to check the lights in the other two rooms and the little storage closet. When he was about to pull the switch in the storage closet, Bucky was coming out of the bathroom next to it. Half naked, with only a towel tied around his waist, he popped his head into the closet to see what Steve was doing.

Steve noticed the drops of water on his bare chest and swallowed.

“The bulb in the bathroom, would you like to have a look?” Bucky was obviously irritated by the fact Steve considered him incapable of taking care of himself. “Told you several times I know how to change a light bulb.”

“Yeah, you would change the bulb with your hands wet. Bucky, this apartment is old, the wiring—”

Bucky ignored him and turned to walk back to the bedroom. Steve lengthened his stride and followed him.

“You’re not going to shower,” it wasn’t a question. Bucky looked at the man before him. The blond had taken off his jacket and was about to hug him. “I thought you’d want to shower after being on the road the whole day.”

“My birthday is a few minutes away, Bucky.”

He knew. Bucky sighed, “Which is why I thought you’d want to have an early rest so that we could celebrate tomorrow.”

“I want my birthday present.” Steve leaned in to kiss Bucky as his hands wandered to Bucky’s hips and brushed against the towel.

Bucky knew what he was trying to do. Steve may have been dressed in his informal military uniform, but he was every bit an army officer. Bucky licked his lips. While he didn’t like Steve leaving him for the battlefield, he couldn’t deny the fact that Steve looked handsome in his uniform.

He stretched out his hands, pulled the collar of Steve’s t-shirt, and kissed him with a smile. “Then come and get it.”

Steve pushed Bucky onto the bed while the brunet untied his towel. Steve lowered himself and kissed Bucky’s lower jaw, Adam’s apple, collarbone, and eventually he stopped at a lightly colored nipple on Bucky’s chest and began to suck slowly. His hand went around Bucky’s waist and his fingers began to search for the hole between his cheeks. 

Suddenly Steve’s dog tags dropped down and hung before Bucky’s eyes. Bucky glanced at the dog tags, opened his mouth and bit at them lightly.

Overwhelmed, Steve lowered his head to kiss Bucky’s cheek and continued to explore his body with his fingers.

Bucky was tight and dry without lubrication.

Steve took off his dog tags and let Bucky bite them. Gently, he patted Bucky’s waist to motion him to turn over.

Bucky did as instructed. He rested his head against the pillow, allowing Steve to hold him from behind and lift him up from the waist. Next he knew, Bucky felt Steve’s tongue exploring his entrance.

The moment Steve’s tongue entered, Bucky couldn’t help but sob and the dog tags dropped from his mouth.

With care, Steve covered the folds of Bucky’s rim with his spit and every so often used his thumb to shove the dripping fluid into him. It took a while before he started to push in his finger to prepare him slowly. When the first finger was pushed entirely inside, Steve felt the tunnel squeeze and then heard Bucky moan with complaint.

“Steve…”

Bucky had come. Amused, Steve peppered Bucky’s spine with little pecks.

“It’s okay, as long as this doesn’t happen often, you shouldn’t have to see a doctor. Premature—”

“Don’t you dare say it! Ugh…”

The second half of the sentence dissipated into low moans as Steve pulled out his finger and pushed in two instead. Bucky buried his face into the pillow. It was a chain reaction from the increased stimulation—the tingly sensation in his stomach, the hypersensitive tightness of his hole after orgasm. His broken moans were all buried into the pillow, forgotten.

When he was sure that Bucky’s entrance was ready for him, Steve put his arm under Bucky’s armpit and turned him over.

Bucky’s cock was half hard again after his first orgasm. His color was a healthy pink, not angry red when engorged. Even the veins didn’t protrude when he was aroused. His cock stood proud after Steve used his hand to work it. Simultaneously, Steve pressed himself against Bucky and pushed forward.

Bucky always moaned as if crying for help at times like this.

He resisted the feeling of being opened up, but at the same time he felt relieved because Steve had returned inside him. Bucky didn’t believe in Freud, but he had to agree that when human beings sought after the pleasure of their desires, whatever morality they had would be abandoned for the sake of that overwhelming satisfaction. Steve had been gone for almost two years on his third tour. He hadn’t even come back to the States for his R&R. Bucky and he had agreed on that so he could complete his seven years of service as soon as possible. At the thought that he might never have to lose Steve after the third tour, nothing put his mind at ease more than holding Steve tightly in his embrace.

Every time Steve plunged into him, Bucky made broken sobs. The walls of the old apartment were thin and he didn’t want to disturb the neighbors in the middle of the night, so he searched for the dog tags on the bed and bit down on them.

Steve got harder at the sight.

Bucky’s brows furrowed at the sensation of Steve’s cock swelling inside his body. Steve sped up his thrusts while his hand caressed Bucky’s brows in an effort to ease the discomfort of his intrusion. Several times, when the sensation was too much, Bucky couldn’t help but curl his fingers around the chain of the dog tags firmly as his body contracted.

That nearly drove Steve crazy.

His Bucky.

Most people noticed Steve only once he'd become the young hero of the American troop. Before that, he was just a student from USU. An ordinary soldier. There were soldiers who were better built than he was. Before he came back from this tour, news that he was going to be awarded a medal had spread and a considerable number of women at the Ankara base had shown interest in him. His teammates had even hired two strippers for him. Steve had nowhere to escape when the two women performed on the table while his teammates laughed their asses off.

Steve had been eager to go home. Eager to step across the barriers of sea and desert. He missed Bucky in his white lab coat. He missed the strength of Bucky’s arms around his neck, or how Bucky laughed and talked when they were walking, or the way Bucky hugged him, pulling him close.

His Bucky.

Seeing how red Bucky’s hand had become from wringing the chain, Steve removed his own hand from Bucky’s hip, untangled him from the chain, and let the brunet unleash his surging desires on Steve. Steve threw the dog tags behind him. He lowered his head to lick at the spit gathered at the corner of Bucky’s lips from biting on the dog tags and then kissed him deeply.

Drops of perspiration dotted Bucky’s nose. Gently, Steve nudged them away with the tip of his nose.

And then he saw Bucky smile. Bucky’s eyes were a little unfocused. Having someone thrusting into his body made it difficult to focus on a target, but Steve could see himself in Bucky’s fogged gaze. He felt softer and more tender than he'd remembered. Maybe because it was Bucky.

Even when he had nothing, he had Bucky.

Honors were nothing but illusions if Bucky couldn’t even attend the ceremony.

If he died, what would Bucky put on his headstone?

How could he leave Bucky alone in the world?

Steve released his orgasm inside Bucky. He leaned down and wrapped Bucky firmly in his arms, showering him with kisses. The lower half of his body twitched as he rested his still swollen cock inside him. They’d had sex without lube and Bucky was bound to be hurt. Steve tried to avoid this from happening if he could help it, but Bucky didn’t seem to mind.

Steve stroked the cheeks of Bucky’s ass tenderly. The fact that Bucky hadn’t turned him down shouldn’t have been an excuse for him to indulge in his desires.

But Steve’s exceptional self-control always disintegrated before Bucky.

He didn’t want rationality. If Steve allowed himself to show signs of weakness in front of one person in the entire world, it would only be Bucky.

He wanted to be his true self in front of Bucky.

Steve pulled out and picked him up from his waist. Before Bucky could protest, his legs were already dangling in the air.

“I’m at least a hundred and seventy pounds—” Bucky shut his mouth when he felt fluid sliding down the backs of his legs.

Steve carried him into the bathroom and deposited him in the moderately sized bathtub before running out to put on his boxers.

Bucky wanted to lift his hand to reach the shower head, but was too lazy to sit up straight, so he left his hand dangling by the tub. Steve laughed for a good minute when he saw the scene upon entering the bathroom. He helped Bucky take down the shower head and began to wash the brunet after making sure that the water temperature was satisfactory. Having showered only to make himself all sweaty again, Bucky tried to avoid the spray of water to show his displeasure. 

“Too hot?” Steve wanted to adjust the water temperature, but Bucky didn’t answer him.

“I’ve already showered,” Bucky complained.

“Yes, you’ve already showered,” Steve repeated gently. “Dr. Barnes, you know better than me the outcome of leaving it inside you.”

“I’ll just go to the bathroom a few times.” Bucky stared at Steve’s boxer-clad lower half. “Oh… you’re not going for a second round in the bathroom.”

Steve directed the shower head at Bucky’s waist to wash him, his finger inside Bucky, inspecting. “Yeah, I’m not…” He stopped Bucky’s sly attempt to kiss him. Using his hand to cup one side of Bucky’s face, he warned. “Don’t seduce me.”

“I could take a couple of antibiotics—” Bucky felt the sting of water rinsing his bruised entrance, but Steve’s reproachful expression stopped him from saying more.

“What an excellent concept of medication, Bucky. That’s what you learned in med school?” Steve sighed. He turned to the mirror next to him, found the salve in the medicine cabinet, and applied it carefully into Bucky. “Bear with me a little.”

“It’ll be sticky tomorrow,” Bucky grumbled. “I don’t like it, Steve. Can’t you just apply amoxicillin?”

“No,” Steve leaned down to seal Bucky’s complaining mouth with his lips. “I already regret hurting you. Just listen to me, okay?”

“Will you come in me again tomorrow? After using lube?” Bucky bit his ear. “The entire day tomorrow?”

A curl tugged at Steve’s lips when he heard that. Another kiss. “I thought someone wanted to see the firework display?”

“I can see it lying down,” replied Bucky softly. “I just want you to make up for the last two years. Those times when you weren't here.” Those times when you could have left me forever. He could never have enough of Steve.

“I’m always yours even when I’m not with you.” Steve pressed their foreheads together, exchanging kisses. “You know that.”

“I know.”

When he woke up from the dream fashioned out of memories, Steve was glad he still had those memories; but at the same time he couldn’t help but realize that, even if he had an apartment to Bucky’s liking, home was never home without Bucky by his side.

 

X

 

Bucky refused the position at PPTH without considering, but Pierce didn’t give him any room to reject.

“However justifiable your reason is, PPTH is no doubt advantageous for your resume. What would you think when you see your resume? I heard some of the doctors in Germany have worked with House before, and he has some very interesting neurology patients. If he includes you in one of his cases, you might have the opportunity to publish your research.”

Bucky knew that, too. But Steve Rogers was with PPTH.

Possibly the last person he loved in this world.

And the last person he wanted to work with in this world.

“Just a year or two, to boost your resume. An administrative position will also exhibit your comprehensive working experience.”

During the two hour train ride, Bucky contemplated how to get along with Steve Rogers. Objectively speaking, what he specialized in didn't require him to operate on a patient, but outpatient cases could be referred to the surgical department and PPTH wasn’t a huge hospital. They would eventually run into one another. There was nowhere he could escape.

He didn’t need to escape, he was just anxious to find an exit.

An exit in which he wouldn’t feel any pain when thinking about Steve. 

Sitting in the office of the Dean of Medicine, Bucky recalled what he’d heard about the forty-two year old woman. Considering her position, she was indeed young and beautiful, but right now her expression was veiled with a cloud of solemnity.

“Your resume’s definitely the best I’ve ever seen, but I need to know if I have to assign you to couples counseling.” Cuddy sat tall and straight behind her large desk, worry in her tone as she spoke. “I already have two colleagues who’re a couple that require my counseling every now and then. I hope you and Rogers can keep it simple.”

“We’re not in a relationship.” He’d knew Steve would have been honest if House pressed him. Not because Steve would out Bucky without his consent, but because Steve was uncomfortable with lying. The blond had never denied their relationship because they hadn’t done anything wrong. The “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” policy had changed later, but Steve was never concerned about his future in the military. His only concern was for his comrades.

“Is that so?” Cuddy looked at the papers sent over by the legal department. “I have some papers regarding employees’ benefits—”

“Lisa, I’m sorry!” Steve opened the door without knocking. His blond hair was messy from running, the collar of his white coat was askew, and the scrubs under the coat indicated that he’d just gotten out of the OR. Everything was just as Bucky had remembered. “Brenda told me that House came out of my office with a file in his hand.”

“The declaration form for partners’ joint income? You want to take it back.” Cuddy massaged her temples as she replied, perplexed. “Looks like it’s a misunderstanding, Dr. Barnes. If the earlier question regarding couples counseling…”

“I don’t mind,” Bucky replied simply. “I’m getting back to my office. I have a pro bono outpatient at ten.”

“Of course. I hope you have a wonderful time working here. We could introduce you to the rest of the staff during lunch time in the cafeteria.” Cuddy stood up and looked at Steve with bewilderment. The blond was still standing at the door awkwardly. “A simple introduction. …Dr. Rogers, the door.”

“Oh, sorry.” Steve took a step back so the two could come out of the room.

Bucky had only raised his eyes to glance at Steve when he’d entered the office, just like anyone else would have done. Almost immediately thereafter, he turned to listen to Cuddy clarify the misunderstanding. He was just as perplexed as Cuddy with Steve standing at the door when they were leaving.

Steve was just a colleague in PPTH. Nothing more.

“Dr. Rogers, perhaps you could walk with Dr. Barnes and acquaint him with the hospital?” Cuddy motioned. “You were, after all, the last member to join us before him. Perhaps you could exchange some information. I believe you’ll behave like real adults, unlike House.”

“Dr. House is very funny.” Bucky smiled. He fully understood why House was House.

“You won’t appreciate it if you stay long enough.” Cuddy patted his shoulder. “Anyway, the research team will be under your supervision. Just make sure you hand in reports, mid-year and year-end, to confirm budget and settlements on time. And deal with House and his legion for monopolizing equipment and demanding priorities from your researchers to run their tests. Trust me, you really won’t appreciate House.”

Bucky nodded, indicating that he understood the dean’s indignation.

And then, as if unconcerned, he walked to Steve, who was waiting for him a couple of steps ahead.

Steve didn’t cover anything unnecessary. On the contrary, he was very intent on introducing the new workplace to Bucky, maintaining a polite distance from the brunet.

Except he included extra information about himself.

“That’s the morgue. I sometimes write my autopsy report there. This is your lab; the ORs are right at the front. I’m almost always on stand-by there, along with other outstanding surgeons and experienced nurses, of course. My office is next to the ORs’ offices. The formal office is on the sixth floor, but I have a desk in the OR. Your office is here, next to the lab, not far away from mine. If you’re on meal break or coffee break, just shout for me anytime—”

“You’re really here!” A man on crutches came out of the lab and stood before them, blocking their way.

“Dr. House.” Bucky smiled at him. “I see you’re using the lab.”

“To attend to everything personally is my highest moral obligation.” Grandiosity came naturally to House. “You’ve come after your boyfriend all the way to our hospital.”

“Ex-boyfriend.” It was rare, but Bucky chose to answer the question this time. House was evidently taken aback.

“House! We’ve made discovery—” Taub came out of the lab and called. “The result has eliminated—”

“Lupus. I know that, I’ve told you it’s not—”

“You guys get on with your work.” Steve patted the shoulder of the big-nosed doctor. Unable to keep a polite distance, he nudged Bucky’s shoulder and motioned for him to abandon the conversation with House at the lab. “Why don’t I take you to the cafeteria?”

“I’m not—”

“I’m hungry. Take it as joining me?” With a difficult smile, Steve looked at Bucky who seemed to be struggling with a dilemma.

Reluctantly, Bucky nodded and motioned Steve to show the way. “Sure, why not?”

While Steve was ready to eat a horse, having just completed an emergency procedure, Bucky only took a bottle of mineral water after looking once around in the cafeteria. It was meager when compared to Steve’s tray.

“You need to eat more.” Steve took a bowl of fruit from his tray and handed it to Bucky. “You lack calcium. Have some grapes.”

That was the kind of conversation they used to have all the time. Steve was obsessed with feeding Bucky grapes and spinach. Bucky remembered that of course. He just didn’t expect the agony that came with the memory. “I just wanted water.”

“You need to eat.” Steve picked up a grape with his fork and delivered it to Bucky’s lips. The act successfully attracted everyone’s attention. Bucky hated it when people stared at him. The staring made him anxious, as if he’d done something wrong. And Steve knew—

Knew he didn’t like that.

Bucky opened his mouth and took the grape, all the while glaring at Steve with annoyance.

“Good. One more.” Thoroughly unfazed by his expression, Steve picked up another grape and repeated the same process. Bucky thought of several ways to get himself out of the situation. He could splash Steve with the bottle of mineral water, or slam the table and stand up to leave, or turn his head and let Steve’s hand stay there until he backed off.

Plan A.) Bucky was really thirsty and he needed the water; plan B.) he would only attract more unwanted attention. As for the last one, he couldn’t bear to see Steve holding his hand in mid-air because Steve wouldn’t give up.

Bucky yielded and ate the grape. Steve didn’t pass him a third grape, instead he extended his hand and stroked Bucky’s puffed up cheek with the grape inside and leaned over to kiss his lips.

When the kiss ended, Steve’s expression was one Bucky was quite familiar with: gentle and loving, as if Bucky was the most precious gem. Softly, Steve asked, “I would like to win you back. May I?”

Staring at him silently, Bucky didn’t say a word. 

Steve knew that elusive expression. Most people would think Bucky was pondering something complicated; but Steve knew that was his I-want-to-hit-someone’s-face expression, and Steve was very likely the intended target.

Steve grinned with satisfaction. This was the first step to getting back together.

As if he’d suddenly remembered something, Bucky held his gaze on Steve. “You know I’m going to Germany.”

“Germany—”

“I’ve told Natasha. She shouldn’t have told you about it,” Bucky continued softly. “Rogers, I don’t know what you thought the reason was for me moving out, but I moved out because I decided to end this relationship.” He screwed the cap back on, stood up, and pulled at his fitted suit, which was slightly wrinkled. “Maybe you don’t understand, but most people call that a break up.”

One foot forward, and Bucky walked to the cafeteria’s exit with steady steps, leaving Steve with his table spread with what now seemed like leftovers.

“I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, Rogers,” a brown-haired doctor walked to the table and sat down in Bucky’s seat. “But I think you shouldn’t be so assertive at the beginning.”

“Wilson.” Steve smiled wistfully. “Have you ever had something you want so badly close enough to touch, yet you just couldn’t have it?”

Hesitantly, the other man tried to think back.

“For one whole year, I didn’t ask anything about him. The first six months, I was in Iraq. My fourth tour. I missed him every day. I called him by satellite phone the first month, but there was no response from him. A friend told me later that only my stuff was left behind, he’d moved all of his things out of the apartment. When my service ended, I stayed for another two months before coming back with a batch of injured soldiers. Medals and promotions meant nothing to me. I just wanted to know if he’d really left me. I lived like a zombie when I found out it was true.”

He’d never told anyone that.

“I’ve never loved anyone like I love him. I was a sickly child and my mother took care of me most of her time, apart from working in the hospital. I felt powerless when she died, so I wanted to go to med school; but I didn’t have the money and I couldn’t get any subsidies. I didn’t even learn organic chemistry when I was in high school. It was just an ordinary high school and I couldn’t take any courses that could be useful. Then my neighbor, Sam, told me I could try enlisting in the army. My physical condition had improved greatly from before, but I didn’t think the army would accept me. Erskine, the officer at the recruiting office, thought I was worth a chance and I took the opportunity. During one of our training sessions in battlefield first aid, the trainer thought I was good enough and encouraged me to take pre-med courses. He even encouraged me to take the entrance exam for med school.”

Steve had worked really hard, but he knew that even if he made it to med school, he could never bring his mother back.

He may have been able to save lives, but the people closest to him were gone forever.

“Until he appeared. Bucky. It’s my fault he lost his hand, but he never blamed me. He even loved me.”

The way Bucky treated him was unlike anyone else. He accepted, without complaint, the fact that Steve had to go to a war zone. He was by Steve’s side when he came back from his tours with all the accompanying trauma: the sounds of gunfire, the potholes on the roads, emergency brakes; Bucky convinced him those weren’t ambushes or bombings. No one could be entirely immune from all those things, no one could be immune from fear—at least not after their first tour. Even with all the training he received at med school, it was impossible to get used to seeing dead people and death and injury. But his fellow soldiers were more afraid than he was, and eventually Steve learned to be strong and unwavering. Not because he'd gotten used to life in a raging battlefield, but because he understood his own significance in the battlefield meant a higher possibility for his fellow soldiers to go home.

And he got a medal for outstanding performance.

Only family was allowed to attend the ceremony. Bucky was his only family, but the law didn’t permit him and Steve went alone.

“On the morning before I left, he didn’t attend the department’s briefing, and it was the only time he’d asked for something from me. He wanted me to accept USU’s offer of battlefield first aid lecturer to complete the rest of my service. After that I could interview for an executive position at Mount Sinai ER at Manhattan. I knew it was a very serious talk. He’d never criticized any of my decisions, he’d always respected me. He’d put aside his pride to ask me, but I only kissed his cheek and told him we’d talk when I got back.”

And Steve had known it was important.

“But you might not have come back,” Wilson pointed out as he looked at Steve calmly.

“I might not have come back each time,” Steve repeated the words that had probably haunted Bucky like nightmares. “Each time before I left, I’d take care of my property: my motorcycle, the old apartment in Brooklyn, my savings. Bucky didn’t want my money, but I left him the motorcycle. The apartment was to be rented out by the realtor and the rent would be donated to needy children, and all my savings were to be given to orphanages. He only knew of my fourth tour when he received the notification from the attorney. I didn’t even tell him personally; he was informed by someone else. I apologized, but I forgot that my apologies never meant anything to him.”

If he died, the apologies would be his last words and a torment. If he came back alive, who knew if he would continue to serve?

“House told me, if his ex-Marine father was still alive, you’d be the son his father wanted.” Out of the blue, Wilson’s comment seemed irrelevant. “Honor, patriotism, sense of duty, the traits that House despises, and yet unattainable by him. Of course, according to House’s cynical standards, you don’t possess the many traits House has. You have someone who loves you wholeheartedly. You have a picture of the two of you on your desk and you look at the picture everyday, because, while your desk collects dust, the frame of that picture remains spotless. There’re books on basic hand therapy on your shelves that you hardly read, yet the books had been read and notes were taken, but you’re able-bodied, and,” Wilson held up a finger for emphasis, “—I didn’t see it, but House did—on your medical records. It’s stated that you were shot in the stomach in the war, another bullet went through your leg, and you had a motorcycle accident when you were at USU; but your hands were never injured. The wound wasn’t inflicted on you, but someone who’s important to you, someone who’s not with you now, but still very important to you.”

“Did House get his powers of deduction from peeping at patients’ medical records?” asked Steve, befuddled.

“No, medical records are just his tool for gossip. Whatever information he wants he could get directly from you,” sighed Wilson. “House is obsessed with solving mysteries and you’re a mystery. You’re perfect, like a god, and he doesn’t believe in that. The more perfect you are, the more flaws you have. He’s convinced you should at least have a secret like having killed someone while DUI. He had a PI do a background check, and it appeared you only skidded on ice while riding on your motorcycle to your date in New York. But from that he understands the reason for your seeming perfection. You have faith, a trait House doesn’t possess. You have what you believe in, and no matter what that is, it’ll lead you to become a perfect person.”

“I’m not perfect.”

“True. Because you’re only human.” smiled Wilson. “And, just like us, you need a second chance. House is very excited because he’s proven that Steve Grant Rogers is not exactly that perfect, and, relative to you,” Wilson sighed, “he’s not at all pathetic.”

But he should earn his own second chances.

 

X

 

Bucky’s working hours were predictable. He would take the earliest train from New Jersey to the northeast, arrive at the hospital promptly at eight-thirty, and leave at six-thirty after he’d finished all the paperwork. Sometimes he would perform night shifts, make rounds to check on his patients, sign research reports, and reject House’s requests for unreasonable and meaningless experiments. Whenever House asked him if blue-eyed blonds weren't allowed to do experiments, he would smile in spite of himself then compliment House on his beautiful blue eyes.

Steve tried to invite him for meals together three or four times a day. In a way, it had been Bucky who had done all the courting previously. He used to sneak a smile at Steve during lessons, walk to Steve’s station and talk to him for half the lesson. After he was injured, Bucky asked for Steve’s company every evening when Steve was done with his revisions. Bucky never asked Steve out on a date, but he’d memorized his schedule and would come to Steve’s classroom and have lunch with him. After they got together, Bucky accommodated Steve constantly. He’d visit Steve on his holidays and fly to DC for their dates; but Bucky had refused to let Steve know when his own birthday was. If Steve hadn’t ask the nurse at USU to look it up for him, he would have missed it. When Bucky saw him, he kept asking Steve why he took the trouble to travel when they'd be spending Thanksgiving together anyway.

Sometimes Bucky would reject Steve’s invitations to eat, sometimes he would agree to them, although they didn’t usually hold long conversations. As long as the topic was about patients’ conditions, Bucky would give his professional opinions, and he'd talk about their colleagues’ hobbies with Steve. Sometimes, when the circumstances were good, they would be so in sync with each other that it seemed as if they’d gone back to the old times when they were in love. Bucky hadn’t changed, but every once in while he would be vexed by the fact that he enjoyed talking to Steve.

 

X

 

There was this kid, a young patient of Wilson’s whose arm was diagnosed with fibroma and had to be amputated. Wilson knew the kid still had the opportunity to be fitted for a prosthetic arm, so he requested Steve, who was an expert on such procedures, to perform the operation in the hopes Steve could save as many muscles as possible.

Steve spent a long time building a relationship with the boy. Once the procedure had been confirmed, Steve would spend time every day talking to him. There was no specific cause for cancer in children. Their genes had decided they would develop abnormalities much earlier than adults who had poor health habits. Even if the arm was amputated, there was no promise the cancer cells wouldn’t recur in other parts of the body.

Wilson had quite a few patients, including a handful of children, but not many of them required such an extensive procedure. He was grateful to Steve for taking time out of his busy schedule to build a connection with the little patient.

No two surgeons were alike. Some thought what their patients needed was their brilliant technique to precisely extract proliferative tissues or deteriorative cells; but some surgeons were different, like Steve. He thought that, after a surgery, most patients would be impacted by the loss—it could be part of an important organ, and for some, a hand or a leg. The patient needed to know the surgeon in charge of the procedure understood them, empathized with them, and wouldn’t treat them like a piece of meat.

Bucky frowned at House, who was making him listen to Steve’s story. Somehow he didn’t know if he should laugh or cry. Of all the people that he’d thought of, he wasn’t expecting House to speak on Steve’s behalf. “I know Steve is compassionate.”

“So…?” House elongated the last vowel.

“So…?” Bucky repeated House’s question. “Should I be saying something?”

“Forget it.” House furrowed his brows impatiently. “And then your boyfriend chopped off the kid’s arm and saved his life. The kid’s parents were very touched, tears and everything. They were grateful to your boyfriend.”

“That’s good.” Expressionless, Bucky lowered his head and continued to eat his salad. “The kid survived.”

“But he lost a hand. If you ask me, that doesn’t make Steve a first-rate surgeon.” Having said that, House gazed at Bucky. A moment passed and he said, disappointedly, “Well, that’s really boring. Are you made of ice? Don’t you have any reaction?”

“House, do you need something from me?” Bucky put down his fork and looked calmly at his colleague sitting opposite him. “Don’t you have patients to attend?”

“Actually, I do. But it’s really uninteresting. My patient is a soccer player. He’s been having this throbbing pain in his back muscles. I’ve eliminated the possibility of infection, nerves, endocrine, and we still don’t know the cause of his pain. I think the best way to find the cause under the layers of muscle tissue is invasive surgery.” House beat him to the blueberries in his bowl and picked them with his fork. “Your boyfriend has rejected my plan.”

“So?” Still wearing a straight face, Bucky waited for House to finish his speech.

“So, I want you to convince your boyfriend for me. If there’s anyone who understands the pain of seeing their professional life falling apart right before their eyes, it’s you, isn’t it?” House stared at the man before him for a long moment. “Still not mad?”

“Whether you find the cause of pain or not, it doesn’t matter,” said Bucky impassively. “You think it’s a malignant nerve tumor.”

“I do.” House lowered his tone. “I think this is a very special case. Blood marker tests, tumor marker tests. The examinations can’t detect if he has cancer, and even chemo would be ineffective. But if I can’t cut open his shoulder blade and humerus, I can’t prove it, and if I can’t prove it, he won’t agree to—”

“You want to amputate his entire arm?” Bucky finished the sentence for the gray-haired doctor. “I hope he’s not a goalkeeper.”

“No.” House shook his head. But without an arm, the patient still wouldn’t be able to play soccer.

“You want me to persuade Steve with my professional opinion,” said Bucky as he looked at House’s sheepish expression. “Why would I even think that—” Bucky looked away. “You want me to use my own injury and make Steve do the examination for you.” Wilson and House were more qualified to convince Steve with their professionalism. “Why don’t you let Cuddy endorse you to convince Steve?”

“Rogers says he can accept my medical deduction, but it’s impossible to cut open muscle tissues without harming the nerves. Pfft, even med school students know that. So if the patient could continue to play soccer with the pain, an invasive surgery is unnecessary,” House reproached angrily. “Does that mean it’s unnecessary to stop the pain? Cuddy says she respects Rogers’ professionalism, so am I the only one who cares that the patient lives in continuous suffering?”

House’s tone at the end might have been exaggerated, but the truth was: no one was more qualified to say that than a man who’d been suffering with pain for so many years. Bucky lowered his head and cast a glance at House’s leg. “You’re indeed more qualified than any one of us to discuss this issue.” House had been dealing with pain for so many years, Bucky couldn’t think of anyone who understood the situation better than him. “So, what you want is an invasive examination.”

“I need to take one look at him to prove that it’s a malignant nerve tumor.” House lowered his eyes and touched his leg. “Then he’ll know what he should do. We’ve already talked to Wilson about the possible approaches to the procedure.”

“Steve is very stubborn, isn’t he?” Bucky stood up and used his non-dominant left hand to pick up the trash on the table. “A pain in your ass?”

“Don’t you think that’s an annoying trait?” House asked instead.

“He is my ex-boyfriend for a reason.” Bucky picked up the tray with his right hand, then stretched out his leg against House’s cane and kicked it to the corner far away. “That’s payment. You owe me.”

House didn't say a word. He looked down at his knees and his fingertips lingered over his old injury.

Steve almost never saw Bucky in his office. He was both surprised and delighted when he showed up.

With one big stride, Steve walked to his desk and rearranged the scattered files into a neat pile, then he pushed the trash can a little toward the corner. “I promise you my habits are much better now. I clean the dishes right after I eat. I’ve just finished reading a report this morning, but—”

“I’m not here for a surprise inspection. Relax, soldier,” said Bucky with a rare smile. “You had a procedure this morning?”

“Yeah, an emergency. Appendicitis.” Steve gestured. “Endoscopy. There was some pus and an ulcer, but we cleaned it up before the excision. The procedure was nice and clean. The patient will be discharged soon.”

Bucky nodded and sat down in Steve’s chair.

Steve was of course glad to see that he wasn’t leaving so soon. He leaned against his desk and gazed at the brunet. He yearned to reach out to touch Bucky’s face, but was careful not to behave rashly. He wasn’t even going to ask what Bucky wanted. Bucky could have been in his office for no reason.

“House’s patient…”

Steve stared at him with disbelief. “You’re helping House persuade me?”

“House has a point and you know it,” said Bucky calmly. “If you’re concerned about your career, I can, with my personal experience, talk to your patient and his family on your behalf. What do you think?”

“House just wants to make a definite diagnosis that it’s a malignant nerve tumor; but we don’t have to cut open the patient to know that. We have no other option,” Steve sighed. “This isn’t a mystery waiting to be solved, Bucky. House needs an answer like he needs Vicodin. So what if it’s a malignant nerve tumor? So what if it hurts? His arm is still intact; he can still play soccer, just like he always has.”

“But you understand pain. Better than anyone,” said Bucky softly. “So many people lost their limbs in the war.”

“That’s why I know.” Steve stooped down and put both hands on Bucky’s knees. “I know how important a pair of hands is for a person. If we can’t treat it, why do we have to do that? Definite diagnosis, and then what? Excision of the affected area, and then what?”

“And then the pain ends,” Bucky gazed at Steve. “That’s all.”

“He said he could endure the pain and play. It’s his job,” Steve countered calmly.

“You’ve lived with a man consumed by pain and you still believe that shit?” Bucky asked instead. He reached out his right hand and put it on Steve’s face. This was the closest they’d been since they broke up. “I was consumed by pain before. I thought I’d lost everything: my hand, my aspirations, my dreams.” Then using the nimble fingers of his right hand, Bucky squeezed Steve’s cheek with all the might of his hand. “Pain is a poison.”

“It’s my fault.”

“No, it’s not.” Bucky sighed deeply. “You helped me forget about pain. I met you at the darkest time of my life. Living with you made me realize the possibilities of having new dreams instead of hopelessness and despair.”

“Bucky,” the blond doctor lowered his head, “we both know the outcome of the story wasn’t what we’d expected.”

“We don’t always get what we want, Rogers.” Bucky pinched the tip of Steve’s ear and it instantly turned red from the pressure.

Steve covered his red ear with his hand. Bucky knew how sensitive his ears were.

“Anyway,” Bucky stood up, “I’m happy to go on your behalf and speak to the family or the patient. He’s in pain and he came to ask for help. If you tell him pain is the only solution to keep his arm intact, I don’t think anyone could live with that. But, then again, if the patient is willing to endure it, we should also accept that. You have the obligation to inform the patient, and allow the patient to make his own choice.”

“But I never did,” said Steve suddenly.

“What?” Bucky lifted his eyes.

“You said the doctor has the obligation to inform the patient and allow the patient to make his own choice. I never informed you and I knew you were suffering because of me.” Anxieties, worries, sadness, sleepless nights. The agony of uncertainty in those nights.

“But you gave me the right to choose.” Bucky turned his sights on the door. They always came back to this. It was never easy for two people who had broken up to be colleagues or friends. Bucky picked up the mug on Steve’s desk and drank the water in a gulp to ease off the agitation of having to take care of relationship problems. “And I was willing to do so. You don’t have to blame yourself.”

“Bucky, I won’t bring it up again, but I just need to ask—” _What can I do to go back to the past? Or: Is there any possibility for us to be like we were before?_

“There’s nothing to ask, Steve.” Bucky put down the mug. “The status quo is good enough.”

They kept an amicable distance. Sometimes they had friendly conversations, sometimes they were as polite as strangers; but no one had to shoulder any more pain. Steve was able to see Bucky, Bucky didn’t have to worry about Steve. No pain, no wound; no healing required, no scar would be left. Two complete circles without a gap.

Only they would also never converge. They were just two circles lightly grazing by one another, meeting at PPTH.

Steve knew the distance put Bucky at ease, so he dared not take a step further. What he wanted was more than this, but he couldn’t articulate what he wanted. He was in no position to do so.

On the day the patient was pushed into the OR, House went to Bucky‘s examination room.

Bucky was weary when he saw House walking into the room. “I have patients, Dr. House.”

“I have your patient transferred to Room 4.” House sat down. “You might want to know that the patient asked to have his arm amputated after the diagnosis, but your boyfriend said he couldn’t do it and referred him to Ronald Reagan UCLA Medical Center in LA. They have good doctors who specialize in rehabilitation.”

“That’s good.” Bucky didn’t show much reaction. He signed the pile of medical records on his desk and put them in the cart. “When you go out, get my patient back from Room 4. He might have peritonitis.”

“The guy also has a blond boyfriend like yours,” said House slowly before he left the room. “The two of them had a stare down in the corridor just like you and Rogers.”

Bucky called out to House, “House, apart from an extra disabled parking space, why are you so interested in me? I’m boring, there’s nothing you don’t know at one glance.”

“Who said I’m interested in you?” House frowned. “Quit putting feathers in your own cap.”

“Because I have influence over Steve, am I right?” Bucky smiled. “He might not like the way you talk, but he respects you. You’re a genius. Undoubtedly.”

“I never doubted that,” House wobbled to the door. “Rogers is boring as shit. If he’s not a psychotic serial killer, he’s just a nuisance. I don’t care what he thinks about me, I never care about anyone else's opinion.”

“Even Wilson?” Without another word, Bucky looked down to read the medical record in his hand.

“About the injury you mentioned.” House turned around at the door. “I didn’t want you to use your hand to make Rogers change his mind.” The gray-haired doctor slanted his eyes at Steve Rogers, who was now staring at him because he was coming out of Bucky’s examination room. “You have the power to change Roger’s decisions. No matter what. Maybe you should just be straight with him: tell him what you want, and he’ll definitely listen.”

With that House left the room and brushed past the blond man walking toward him.

From the corner of his eye, House saw Steve Rogers enter the examination room and sighed, “Just like a god damned dog.”

 

X

 

Wilson thought Steve had done well the last few months. At least he’d been getting along with Bucky. So Wilson suggested a little surprise on Christmas Eve.

Steve had never given Bucky any surprises. Scared him? Probably quite a few times.

But Wilson had given him some really good suggestions. Some.

There was a party in the lobby on Christmas Eve and everyone was attending. Bucky was popular among the nurses. Doubtless he was more polite in comparison to House; or he had been more helpful to the nurses at the station than Steve; or he let the nurses, especially Brenda, the head nurse, assist him with his paperwork and outpatient reports; so he had quite a few presents for them. Brenda’s eyes lit up when she saw the French brand organic perfume.

“I know your son is allergic to synthetic fragrances.”

“Oh, Bucky, you’re too sweet.”

He gave House a vinyl record. House looked like he was about to make fun of Bucky’s taste in music until he saw it was a Ted Nugent album. As though muted, he accepted the present silently without saying thank you. But when he raised his eyes to look at Bucky, the brunet had a faint smile on his face.

“Well done,” said House dryly. “But I still won’t like you.”

“You’re not my type. Don’t worry.” Bucky’s smile was almost a lazy one. “Not every James will make concessions for you. The album was thrown out by my neighbor. I heard you had a morbid obsession with the guitar, so I picked it up.”

“It’s Wilson’s ex-wife who has a morbid obsession.” Who else would go about broadcasting his interests? House grunted coldly.

Then there was a commotion in the lobby. Exclamations of surprise. Bucky turned his head. Even though he could regard Steve with a facade of professionalism, he couldn’t help but be astonished by the head-to-toe Santa Claus outfit Steve was wearing. Hat and beard included. The next instant, Bucky was smiling. For the seven years they’d been together, he’d never seen Steve in anything like that before. And seeing how Bucky was beaming now, Steve was immediately willing to wear the outfit to work for the rest of his life.

“It suits you.” When Steve came to his side, Bucky handed him a glass of champagne. Steve returned a grin.

From the big sack behind him, Steve fished out a present and a pair of antlers and put it on Bucky’s head.

“Bucky.”

Most people saw the joke and laughed cooperatively. Only House turned his head to Wilson and asked if anyone got the gross meaning behind the joke, “About him wanting to ride him. He’s Santa Claus and he’s—”

“House, nobody, apart from you, thinks that way; and Bucky’s not mad, he likes the antlers.”

“Ah, it’s you who suggested he buy the antlers. Never underestimate you, Wilson, eh?”

Not expecting himself to be exposed so quickly, Wilson simply shut his mouth.

Then Steve handed Bucky the huge present he was holding. Bucky took it, but didn’t open it immediately. He smiled and thanked Steve. Steve looked at him, then looked at the people around them, eventually returning his gaze to Bucky.

He didn’t mind not having one, but did he really not have a present? Even Cuddy had just put on the silk scarf Bucky gave her.

Bucky saw his train of thought. Grinning, he took out a thin envelope from his pocket. Steve poured out the contents and saw a business card. It was in German.

It was the card of the neurology institution in Dresden. Bucky would start working there after July.

“You’re welcome to visit,” said Bucky softly. “Next Christmas.”

Steve didn’t say a word. He put the business card in his shirt pocket and placed his palm on the huge present that Bucky was still holding. “Open it. You can open it in public, I promise.”

Bucky nodded and started to open the present. Inside the huge box was a smaller one, and with each box he opened, a smaller one appeared. In the end, the last box was the size of his palm. Bucky seemed to have guessed what it was. He turned sideways and slid the box inside his pocket. “I’ll open it when I get back.”

Steve tilted his head to think for a moment. Guessing Bucky could have mistaken the content, he grinned. “Don’t worry, Bucky, it’s not a ring. Even if it is, I wouldn’t propose to you after you’ve already rejected me. I’m not that thick-skinned.”

Wilson overheard their conversation from the other side of the nurse’s station and rolled his eyes. House saw that and he couldn’t believe what had just unfolded before him. “You told him to give him a ring? Wilson, do you know why you’re divorced?”

“The reason for my divorce has nothing with to do with my fond tendency to give away rings!” retorted Wilson. “It would be a success if he accepted the ring!”

“Or he could return the ring, you moron!” hissed House. “You’re more inept at this than Steve Rogers, and you dare teach him how to do it? Rogers is another moron, too.”

On the other side, the two men were still maintaining an intimate and polite conversation. Steve urged Bucky, “You’ll like it, just take a look,”

Bucky touched the antlers on his head. “I like this, Rogers, I hate surprises.” The antlers were good enough.

“I know. I know you’ve had enough of surprises.” Steve smiled, calm and serene. He took the present and opened it gingerly. Inside were his dog tags. The silver dog tags that had been discharged with him. Unpolished and stained, with a bit of mud and sand. Luckily there weren’t any bloodstains on them. The clasp of the chain was a little loose, but still working.

Frowning, Bucky looked at the tags. He loved and hated them at the same time. He’d bitten down on them several times in bed, but he was also afraid he would one day see them on a cold body.

“I’m not serving anymore,” said Steve softly. “This is my promise to you. I’m not going anywhere dangerous. If I can’t get back together with you, I’ll still be well and alive, or… be with you forever. It all depends on you. You decide.”

Bucky closed the box and put it back into his pocket like he had before, then he whispered into Steve’s ear, “You should know what this reminds me of… that’s a terrible move.”

Steve was confounded for a moment. The dog tags held many of their sweetest memories, he thought they were better than a ring. Better than a business card. “You gave me a business card, Bucky.”

Bucky creased his brows again. He extended his hand to take out the envelope under Steve’s Santa Claus costume. “Look again. Properly.”

Steve took the envelope as ordered and looked into it carefully. There was a piece of paper tucked inside the envelope. He took it out.

Written on the paper was the name of a medical institute that was in the same city as the neurology research institute. It was looking for experienced surgeons to help design training courses for medical personnel in third world countries.

“Next year. If you could come to Germany next year, I’ll get back together with you.” The smile on Bucky’s face was almost indecipherable. “You may think the reason for our separation is absurd—”

“You had all the right reasons—”

“Let me finish,” Bucky interrupted him. “But you and I have different priorities.”

“I know, Bucky, I really—”

“But when I liked you, the priorities were right,” Bucky continued gently. “I spent two years trying not to think about anything that had to do with you. It was tough at first, but you know what they say: out of sight, out of mind. It’s true. I felt I’d found myself some peace: no worries, no concerns. But I never stopped caring about you. Tasha told me no news is good news. It meant you were safe and well. Apart from the notice I saw on an AMA website that said that you were going to work at PPTH, you were well. I thought the distance was good, everything was good, until I saw you again.”

Bucky reached out and arranged Steve’s beard.

“Unlike you with your patriotism, with your fellow soldiers and your peers, you were my priority. But it didn’t work between us. At first I thought I could accept your profession and respect your decision, but it was proven that I couldn't. I shouldn’t have found out from your attorney, that was your fault; but sometimes it’s inevitable that we foist our obligations on other people. I thought it was right to have you far away from the war, and you thought I could wait for another few months. Or maybe you thought I couldn’t even endure those few months—”

“I never thought that way. I let you wait for seven years. At any point—” You could have left me.

“Steve, I just want you to know, if I have to constantly remind myself to keep you away from my mind, it means that I could never let you leave. The realization hit me when you came back into my life. Even if I lost my memory, I would probably feel like I’d known you before, that’s how important you are to me. Perhaps you’ll always be a part of me. An imprint I’ll never be able to erase,” said Bucky gently. “Let’s exchange our priorities, then decide if we should move on together.”

He patted his pants pocket.

“I accept your past. If it’s possible, let’s move on to the future.”

 

X

 

_“Bitte geben Sie mir Glühwein,”_

“No, Steve, I won’t have a second glass. It’s warm.”

“Bucky, you’re at a Christmas market in Dresden. A warm alcoholic drink is fine.”

“You never get drunk, and I don’t want you to get me drunk.”

“I’m always drunk when I look at you.”

“You should get yourself checked. Dizziness is a symptom of a number of diseases.”

“Bucky, what I’m saying is I love you.”

“I think that’s the first time I heard you say that.”

“Definitely not the last time—wait! Bucky, that’s _Kartoffelpuffer_.”

“No, don’t kiss me when you just had garlic. Applesauce, you can choose applesauce flavor.”


	2. Epilogue: In Dresden

Summer in Dresden was pleasant, the afternoon sun perfectly beautiful. Tired from all the moving, Bucky just wanted to leave the apartment and take a walk around. 

Under Pierce’s recommendation, the project he would be working on would take ten years. Upon entering the institute for the second or third year, most researchers would be involved in other new projects, so it would be appropriate to consider Dresden his destined home. He might have invited Steve to come look for him, and he hoped they could spend the rest of their lives together, but he wasn’t exactly optimistic about that.

Essentially, Steve would leave PPTH sooner or later. He wasn’t the type to lead a routine office life.

Steve still slept on the floor of his apartment. Natasha had told Bucky a person was changed forever after experiencing war.

The screen on his cell phone showed the messages Steve sent him daily. The contents were simple, mostly work, with a dash Steve’s sentiments about missing him, and some positive replies for Steve from teaching institutions.

Medical science could be a profound discipline, but the medical needs of the people of each territory differed. The cultivation of medical personnel couldn’t rely entirely on the teachings from developed countries. Take the medical team in Cuba for example: After fundamental medical training, they were able to provide the immediate medical assistance their people needed. That was the significance of medical science, and Bucky could imagine how suitable the job was for Steve.

Following the street outside his apartment, Bucky headed to the center of the city and arrived at Großer Garten. The garden was vast and it was usually cool and breezy under the shade in late afternoon. For someone who was enclosed in a research center for the entire day, nothing beat the relaxation of a place so green. Laying on the bench, Bucky couldn’t help but think about Steve.

He wanted to take a nap, but he'd only closed his eyes for less than two minutes when someone pulled at his dangling hand from the bench. 

Bucky opened his eyes and saw a little boy with soft brown hair and sky blue eyes staring back at him. The boy opened his mouth, “I need help. I can’t find my daddy,”

Bucky sat up and looked around the area nearby. No wonder the boy had come to him, there was no one else around except him.

“Sure. I’m James. What’s your name?”

“Elliot.” The boy took his hand without asking for his permission. “My daddy is this tall.” The boy stretched his hand as far up as possible to indicate the height of his father. “He has blond hair and he has blue eyes like me. Please help me.”

Bucky nodded. He allowed the boy to pull him up from the bench, then Bucky carried the boy on his shoulders. “Call for your daddy when you see him, okay?”

The boy nodded slightly, the same way Bucky did.

“Where did you last see him?” Bucky walked to the area where people congregated in the park. “At the little train?”

“There’s a train?” The boy tilted his head. “I didn’t know there was a train.”

Searching for the boy’s father in the afternoon heat wasn’t the answer. Bucky sat the boy under a shady tree, took out a handkerchief from his pants pocket and wiped the perspiration on the boy’s forehead. The boy lifted his eyes to look at Bucky and leaned toward the brunet and hugged him tightly. Bucky patted his head. “We’ll find your daddy, okay?”

“There’s a big house.” The boy remembered the last place he’d seen his father. It was the Sommerpalais.

Bucky nodded and headed to the central part of the garden with the boy. It was the weekend and there was a small concert held in the palace. Bucky took the boy around the concert once and considered seeking assistance from the tourist service center if they couldn’t find the boy’s parents. The boy spoke English with an American accent, he could be the child of some tourists.

Without warning, the hand that had been holding on to Bucky’s let go suddenly and the boy ran ahead of him with earnestness.

Bucky raised his head to look in that direction and saw a man who was totally the opposite of what the boy had described. The man was almost as tall as Bucky, but his hair wasn’t blond. The boy jumped right into man’s arms. The man said a few words softly, and the boy answered. Then the man looked in Bucky’s direction and carried the boy as they walked toward him.

“Thank you so much! We couldn’t find him and we were just about to call the police,” the man expressed his gratitude sincerely.

“Glad he found you.” Bucky looked at the boy who was clinging tightly to his father. “Elliot, your daddy isn’t blond.”

The man glanced at the boy and turned his head to Bucky and explained, “My partner is indeed blond.”

“I see,” Bucky nodded. For a moment he didn’t know how to react appropriately. “Well, em… goodbye then.”

The man gestured for the boy to say his goodbyes. The boy waved enthusiastically. Bucky patted his head and waved, too.

When he turned to leave, a blond man walked past him anxiously, talking at the same time, “Elliot, I told you not to leave my side!”

He didn’t turn to take a second look, but Bucky was glad the family was reunited. He turned and walked toward the exit to the zoo. He’d been roaming around with the boy under the hot sun. He should get himself a mug of ice cold beer. His English colleague at the center had warned him that Germany was stocked with fattening food, especially German beer.

Bucky thought he would like it here.

And he hoped Steve would, too.

 

X

 

Steve’s notion of going to Germany was met with an unprecedented challenge in December. A member of the Red Cross whom he’d met in the war had invited him to join Doctors Without Borders to help civilians in the war zone they’d been to. The American troops had withdrawn from the area, but they heard news of extremists attacking military bases every now and then. The area wasn’t entirely safe, but it was in urgent need of medical supplies.

“I’m relying on your experience in the area, Steve,” said the other man.

Steve had asked for a day to consider, and now he was typing out his daily message to Bucky.

Bucky had taken his dog tags. Steve remembered his promise to the brunet and knew the only reasonable reply was to reject the invitation. But it was too difficult to say no. The medical standards there would be nearly zero if not for the assistance from international organizations. It lacked even the most basic medication. So many people lived under the threat of drone strikes, unable to sleep at night.

Steve considered for several moments and eventually typed one sentence in his message. Bucky never returned his messages, and he probably wouldn't this time, but Steve still wrote it out. He wanted to know the other man’s opinion.

One or two minutes after he sent the message, he got a reply.

There was only one word. Steve stared at it on the screen, stroking it back and forth with his thumb, and then he made a call.

One week before Christmas, Steve received an early Christmas card from Natasha. It was a picture of her with Clint’s family. Natasha had to work on Christmas Day, so they had visited Clint’s parents and his brother in advance, and took a family picture to send to friends and relatives.

Natasha only wrote a couple of sentences on the card: _If you think Clint is an ass, imagine living with three other Clints. Merry Christmas. Also, I’m glad you made the right decision._

Steve put the card inside his luggage.

He’d left simple furniture in his apartment. A tenant would move in after the New Year. It was a doctor who was going to take over the position as head of the department of surgery, as well as his wife and their two lovely daughters. Steve had met them at the hospital several times. The doctor liked the sun-facing room in the apartment and intended to convert it into a study. He had asked Steve the initial purpose for the room, and Steve smiled and said it was a guest room for friends to spend the night. Steve was later told by the doctor’s wife that her husband had moved the bed in the guest room into the master bedroom, and he felt it wouldn't be too bad for the couple.

Steve had never slept on that bed. Most of the time, he slept on the floor where he could see out the window. The night sky reminded him of the crimson of ground missiles flying across the dark sky, and the vibration frequency of Bucky’s thoracic cavity when he laughed.

And then he thought of Bucky’s expression when he frowned.

He’d included an extra sentence in his message: _Burke says Doctors Without Borders has a one month mission in Iraq._

_Priorities._ Bucky had replied with that one word. Steve could interpret it as Bucky warning about his promise about the priorities between the two of them, or he could also read it as Bucky’s respect for him deciding what he wanted his priorities to be. It was an ambiguous answer. He could also translate it as Bucky’s conclusion: he held no expectations because he was used to the fact that Steve may never be content with settling down in peace.

It was up to interpretation. Staring at the message, Steve kept wondering if it was a test?

And so he made an instinctive decision according to his priorities and made his journey to Dresden as planned.

He might never be content with settling in a world of peace, he might think there were too many people who needed his help. But he was positive about one thing: no matter how many people he wanted to help, if he couldn’t be by the side of the one person who was most important to him in the world, then those people he’d helped—people who had given him their blessings, people who wanted him to be happy—would eventually be disappointed.

Bucky was his starting point and also his destination.

Bucky was holding a cordless phone in his left hand when he opened the door. He put his other hand around Steve’s back and embraced him firmly. Steve listened to him as he talked into the phone, “You could spend Christmas at Becca’s. I’ll be fine. Steve’s with me. Yes, we’ve gotten back together. I don’t know… I thought you always wanted us to get back together? Yeah, I thought giving him up after waiting for seven years was a loss, too… Yes… I love you, too, Ma. Steve wants to talk to you.”

Did he? Passively, Steve took the phone.

When they were at PPTH, Bucky’s parents once had a layover at Newark Liberty International Airport when they were returning from an overseas trip, and they’d decided to visit Bucky at the hospital.

Steve was busy that day and had only managed to say a quick hello to them.

The conversations between grown up children and their parents were usually uninteresting, and the topic was either work or relationships. Steve never knew what Bucky’s parents thought of him after he’d failed to turn up for dinner with them. After Bucky’s recovery and the end of his therapy, Steve hadn’t seen them at all during the time he was with Bucky. He only knew they trusted Bucky and the decisions he made.

“Ma’am?” Steve took the initiative to speak first. He hoped he didn’t sound too awkward. He hadn’t interacted with an elderly figure for a very long time. He hoped he sounded polite, but he couldn’t find the next suitable sentence to say.

The other end of the line was also silent for a moment, and a voice told him eventually to take good care of Bucky.

Steve promised. “Of course, I won’t let you down.”

After he hung up the call, Steve gazed at Bucky, who was smiling at him. The heater was on and Bucky wasn’t wearing many layers. Steve returned his smile and picked up his simple luggage and entered the threshold.

Years ago, Steve had walked into Bucky’s rental apartment in Brooklyn with a simple suitcase. He now saw in his mind’s eye the boy who'd moved across the bridge because Steve had told him he came from Brooklyn. Before that, the boy had spent his life on the Upper East Side where everything he wanted could be attained within a few blocks. Later he learned how to change light bulbs, fix the plumbing, and many other things he’d never known how to do before.

“I thought you’re going to Iraq?”

“Not going. I’m not going anywhere.” Steve shook his head resolutely. “I’ll never make you second priority. Ever.”

Bucky extended his hand to caress Steve’s face, then his brows. “Glad to know you think that way.”

They cooked together on Christmas Day. Bucky took care of the easiest task: he opened the can, poured the contents into boiling water, stirred, and— _voila!_ —soup. Steve, after finding out how to use the still untouched oven in Bucky’s kitchen, took charge of the relatively difficult task of heating the pre-roasted chicken they’d bought from the supermarket.

They drank a lot of red wine that day. Bucky had rejected getting the signature festive drinks from the Christmas market, but he didn’t say no to red wine. He had so much that his skin, which was paler than Steve’s, turned rosy pink. He was grinning so hard that his eyes became a line. He sipped the red fluid in his glass as he stroked Steve’s face.

In Steve’s imagination, that was the image of peace.

They kissed in front of the window where it was snowing outside, just as they had one evening in Brooklyn. It was the first night they’d moved in together. Steve couldn't seem to get enough of Bucky that night. Sometimes he wished Bucky would always be as nervous and enthusiastic as the first time, sometimes he wished Bucky would fully adapt to his intrusion, and sometimes he wished Bucky couldn’t think of anything, but just enough to moan his name.

Steve’s favorite part was taking off Bucky’s clothes. Bucky waited patiently with a wary smile for Steve to unbutton his shirt.

Steve buried himself between Bucky’s thighs, and slowly massaged the ring of muscles at his entrance.

Meanwhile Bucky was messing up Steve’s hair with his hands. Irritated, Steve turned to kiss Bucky who obviously considered foreplay boring. “As a doctor, I’m appalled by the disregard that you have for yourself.”

“If I really did cherish myself, why would I choose a professional soldier to be my boyfriend?” Bucky smiled wistfully. Steve frowned and leaned forward to embrace him. “I don’t regret my decision. If you could cherish me from now on, I’m not entirely a failure, right?” Bucky stroked the back of Steve’s neck. “Thank you for not making me a fool again.”

Bucky had thought he was pathetic when he replied to Steve’s message. He was afraid he might have to spend Christmas alone.

He remembered the kiss Steve had planted on his cheek before he’d left for his fourth tour. Steve had told him he’d be back soon. Bucky couldn’t tell if he was scared or angry, and he’d felt the same when he saw the offending word “Iraq” in the text message. He could have expressed his anger, could have told Steve to be in his shoes for once and consider his needs. There were so many people out there saving the world, it wasn’t like they couldn’t do anything without Steve. But Bucky couldn’t type out the words and so he was back to square one.

What kind of person was Steve? What did he like about Steve in the first place?

Steve always helped his classmates who were physically weak during drills because he understood the feeling of not being able to catch up with others; he would let other people take the first row to observe procedures, and then would watch the video playback and practice by himself in the middle of the night; he had fully utilized his time at med school so he could contribute to the military, to his country, sooner.

Bucky had observed Steve for two weeks and he’d felt this man was the best person in the entire world.

After the accident, Steve had proven with his actions that Bucky’s conclusion was accurate.

“Come on, Steve, I want you.” Bucky kissed the five o’clock shadow on Steve’s face that had grown in after a long flight across two continents. “Please?”

Steve stared at the man who'd hurt him with his words just now, and now the same man was asking him to hurt him. He lined himself against Bucky’s entrance, pressing their foreheads together. “Bucky, do you hate me?”

“I love you so much it hurts.” Bucky’s breath was quivering. He could feel his entrance being stretched and opened. Bringing up his jaw, Bucky bit Steve’s lower lip lightly. “But I don’t hate you. Never… Steve… but I promise you I will if you don’t get inside me.”

As he wished, Steve plunged all the way into the deepest part of him. Bucky’s eyes grew bigger until Steve stopped.

This was the first time they’d made love in the last two years. Bucky was as tight as the first time, yet his craving for Steve was so familiar.

“How does it feel?” Steve stroked Bucky’s breathless cheek repeatedly. “Does it hurt?”

“Hurts,” replied Bucky softly. “Of course it hurts. That’s why I need you to move.” 

Obeying his request, Steve began to move, thrusting into Bucky with a varied rhythm. The rhythm of Bucky’s breath started to change, alternating between heavy and light. The weight of Steve on him was comfortable. Steve’s shoulders and the scars on Steve’s body were all familiar images to him. His map.

The map home.

“How does it feel… inside?” Bucky nibbled Steve’s ear, which turned red at the slightest touch. And Steve indulged him, the little cannibal nibbling his ears. 

Steve turned sideways and nudged Bucky’s cheeks. “Like home.” Like taking back everything that had once belonged to him.

Steve had thought of the many nights like this one. Recalled the countless times they’d made love, thought about every inch of Bucky’s skin—from his back, as white as the snow that had accumulated overnight, to his narrow waist and his muscular ass—every part of Bucky was the human body Steve was most familiar with since his lessons in anthropotomy.

Although he liked the answer, Bucky had no intention of letting him off so easy. “Is it tight?”

“Bucky…” Steve couldn’t help but sigh.

“There’s only been you.” Bucky hooked his leg around Steve’s thighs. “Is it tight?”

Steve thrust into him harder. “Is this what you want?”

Bucky nodded slowly. “It’s been two years. If I were you, I'd want to do a thorough check-up.”

Steve lowered his head to graze his teeth over a nipple. “As you wish, doctor.”

He grabbed Bucky’s legs a little too harshly, earning some complaints from Bucky; but he had no intention of being gentle. He only wanted to remove any obstacles preventing him from plunging deeper inside Bucky. Bucky chose that moment to hold his tongue and moaned instead in response to the intensity of Steve’s strength. The blond held his hand firmly on Bucky’s hip, thrusting into his body repeatedly.

“If you ask me—” Just as he reached his release, Steve interlaced his fingers with Bucky’s right hand and squeezed them hard. Bucky’s left hand had slipped from Steve’s sweat-slick back. “Everything seems fine… Bucky… you’re not much different from when you were twenty-five years old…” Probably more honest, and more straightforward.

He felt the movement of the fluid Steve had left inside him as the blond’s arousal subsided. Bucky thought it was strange for anyone to claim they liked that sticky feeling inside their body, but he really couldn’t say he hated Steve for doing it. If possible, he wanted Steve to hug him for the rest of the night just like that. He wanted to know without question that this man belonged to him, that he would stay with him and go crazy for him.

The more he was afraid of losing Steve, the more he was willing to wait for him once again.

“Don’t pull out,” said Bucky as Steve stroked his arm. “One more time.”

Steve lowered his gaze with a smile. His Bucky. He kissed Bucky’s cheek tenderly. “Bucky, you’re bleeding. We should clean up first.” They pressed their foreheads together as Steve looked into Bucky’s hazy eyes earnestly. He lifted his head to kiss the corner of Bucky’s eye, fogged with burning desire and pleasure. “We have a lifetime. Let’s take it slow.”

“Steve.” Blinking his eyes into focus, Bucky reached out his left hand to cup the back of Steve’s head. “I need you to promise me honestly you would never leave me and go somewhere else again. Don’t ever turn your back and leave, please?” Watching Steve leave had been the most painful memory in his life.

Steve nodded and tilted his head sideway to kiss Bucky’s palm.

“Never again, I promise. There’ll only be you. No priorities.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of the characters in this story will make appearance in the next one. Stay tuned.


End file.
